


Best Laid Plans Of Mice And Morons

by Sublimey



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Bi Alistair, Blood Magic, Butterfly Effect, F/M, Found Family, Gen, Modern Girl in Thedas, Multi, Self-Insert, Slow Burn, Straight into AU territory past chapter 5, aldultery and other great unhealthy coping mechanisms of: the Theirin family, how to turn your roadtrip to hell into a family bonding experience, idiots to lovers, no love triangles, with science
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 17:18:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 62,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16350887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sublimey/pseuds/Sublimey
Summary: A blood Mage joins the Grey Wardens just before the battle of Ostagar. Cinna doesn't know a lot of things, but she does know that she's never done a smart thing in her goddamn life. Accidentally curing the blight along the way just so happened to one of the few good things.





	1. Cinna’s No Good Very Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting this before I retreat back into my cave and write another 50K. at this point, i'm hoarding chapters, take them! take them all!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the story kicks off, the main character has a bad time, and everyone else involved isn't to jazzed about it either. 
> 
> now with a working cover! (for the time being, lol)

* * *

  
  
  
“Now, if you look to your left, this is… the outside. Shocking, I know. It takes some getting used to.”

 

Cinna shut the car door behind her and shot an empty, tired look at her father. This again. “Stick to your other three jokes, that one is getting old.”

 

“She's just cranky because vampires don't like the sun,” her eldest sister grinned, smile only widening when Cinna turned her glare on her. “I'm sure it gets darker in the forest, you won't need any more sunblock.”

 

“It's overcast.”

 

She shoved her hands into her pockets as they walked onto their property, watching her step since the dirt path had turned to mud after so much rain. It was nearing wintertime, and the best season in Cinna’s opinion because it meant she could bundle up without sweating. Scarves were good too, but they had packed away all their winter gear during the summer so they could sell the house. Now, on their spare lot, she had about three hundred million tons of junk to sort through just so she could look cute going to school next week. Her dad and her sister just didn't understand her struggle, but she had managed to get a ride from them after a week of whining.

 

Ella tossed her the keys and gestured for her to start making her way to the storage shed as she made her way towards her own. “I've got some shit to sort through, go on ahead. Make sure the dogs don't run off okay? Last time dad let them roll in something dead and if they do it again you're washing them.”

 

“How is that fair?!” Cinna didn't catch the keys in time and winced as they hit her hand and fell into the mud. She cursed. “Nice freaking throw.”

 

“Nice freaking catch.”

 

Dad was off somewhere, probably fawning over the tractor he bought secondhand and never used. Feeling rather put-off and abandoned, Cinna made her way towards the storage shed and wiped the keys on her winter jacket. The sound of rustling to her side made her head turn, and she dropped the keys again when she saw both dogs bolting into the forest after a nearby deer.

 

“Shit—SHIT!” Scarf forgotten, she called to her relatives for help but couldn't stop to explain before the dogs did something really, really stupid. The two were stupid on their own, and stupider together, and stupidest when her sister was around, because stupid raises stupid, so it only made sense that they'd be doing something like this when all she wanted was to find her shit and go home.

 

Now, running through the forest, she had no idea where they were and how far they went off the trail. A distant crash to her left caught her attention, and there—

 

Whoosh-! Something flew past her face and into the brush behind her. Cinna jumped at the sound and turned- an arrow lodged itself into a tree behind her, and she stared at it.

 

“What. The... fuck?” She reached out to touch it, but it was covered in some… dark black substance? It looked like pitch, or oil or something, and it smelled like vomit. She instantly recoiled and looked back at where it came from.

 

Then, came the others.

 

Arrows whizzed past her with clear intent—she could barely see through the thick trees and broken branches, but there, in the distance, huddled beneath the bow of a tree, stood a short stout man with greyish green skin. He blended into the foliage almost, his face empty and eyes glittering.

 

As he pulled back his bowstring and let out a snarl, she screamed and fell backward.

 

“What th—what the fuck? what _the hell—?!_ ”

 

Who even did shit like that? Who does he think he is? Why was he trying to-

 

Finally, one of his arrows hit. It pierced her jacket and found its way into the fleshy part of her shoulder, throwing her to the ground with surprising strength.

 

She'd never been shot by an arrow before. Cinna tried to raise her arm but cried out at the pain, her other hand coming back soaked in blood as it gripped her shoulder. “Oh. My god?? Oh my god, what—”

 

The man approached, and he was shorter than she first thought. The skin around his eyes and mouth seemed wrong, rotted, somehow peeling away, mottled purple and black like a spoiled plum.

 

Foliage snapped under the weight of his heels and she watched as he pulled out a crudely made knife. Her heart rate spiked, and she kicked back on the ground, trying to get back up and to put space between them. Nobody heard her calls for help, not her sister, her dad, or her dogs. It was like they had abandoned her; the only one to hear her screaming was her soon to be killer.

 

“S-stop!” She whimpered, putting her bloody hand up to stop him and shouted as he got closer, angry and confused and terrified all at once. “Get back!!”

 

She closed her eyes, the same time there was a crack, a thunderous sound, and the smell of burning flesh. Cinna coughed on the fumes and looked back up to see him gone, and in his place sat a crispy dark mound, roughly the size of a corpse.

 

She reeled back. Her eyes went to the sky, terrified and confused, but mostly in pain, still, and Cinna wondered if the weather had called for freak lightning strikes. She’d take what she could get.

 

She couldn't remember the trail back to the car as she stumbled through the forest. The man-beast-whateverthefuck was dead, where she left him, and she didn't feel an ounce of sympathy for him. Whatever had happened was between him and Thor, or Zeus, or whatever, and she'd be seriously re-evaluating her opinion on higher powers after she got to a goddamn hospital.

 

“...If I get to a g-goddamn hospi...hospital,” she panted, clutching her shoulder. She didn't know how much blood she lost, but the shock was doing weird things to her head.

 

She thought she saw more people off in the woods, but couldn't get a good look at them before she fell forwards, feet slipping in the much, driving the arrow further into her arm goddamnit.

 

“Aaaarrru _ghhhggghhh!!!!!_ ”

 

She sobbed and rolled herself onto her back. The feathery end of the arrow had snapped clean off and came apart in her hand. Her fingers itched to pull out the rest, every part of her brain was SCREAMING at her to yank it out, to get rid of the foreign invader, but dammit, she also watched medical shows and knew that was a stupid fucking idea.

 

Getting back up was hard; looking for her sister or her dad while she was busy wiping away tears and snot was hard. She didn't give a shit about her dogs anymore, or about scarves, or why nobody came to help her, she just wanted to go home. Where was everyone? Had she gone the wrong way? Cinna turned and looked back at the path she had beaten through the brush and wondered if she took a wrong turn. The trees were old and thick—she didn't recognize them.

 

Then, s _omething whistled past her face_.

 

“No!! damn it! Not again, _fuck you!!!!_ ” She ducked her head as another arrow shot past her and picked up a fistful of dirt. She turned her head towards her attacker—attackers, now—and felt only frustrated outrage and fear, mingling as one. _How fucking dare they?! Who did they think they are?!_

 

The trees were a help this time, instead of a hindrance. The people shooting fucking arrows at her were ill-equipped for all the undergrowth, struggling to hop over stumps when she had literally been living in the forest her entire goddamn life. She went to school playing capture the flag in the forest—with an arrowhead in her shoulder and a fistful of fuck-you, she nailed the first guy in the face with a clump of dirt and put her whole body into a solid kick, right to the solar plexus.

 

Her heel slid off his solid metal armor _(what the hell?)_ but he stumbled, falling into a spindly looking bush.

 

His friends were further back and scrambled to hop over the log their friend had, but she had already grabbed a stick with her good hand and swung it over her head. It fell down on one of their hands and the man cried out, cursing. “Andraste's _tits—!_ ”

 

“Get the hell away from me!” She growled, readying her stick again. The bastard in the bush was doing his best turtle-impression and the other guy was clutching his hand. The third guy had jumped back and readied his bow, and she wondered what she must've done to piss off the weirdest hunting party in the world.

 

“Freeze! Or I won't hesitate.” He was super short, for a man, or anyone really, with dark brown skin, and a weird, foreign accent.

 

“Oh great, so you're _murderous tourists,_ as well? Fuck, man.” She let the stick fall to the ground as the men collected themselves. Getting shot a second time was not on her to-do list. She eyed their heavy armor but kept her attention on the short dude with a bow. “Who the hell are you people?”

 

“Who the hell are you?” Spat the guy she kicked, half his face caked in dirt. His eyes were watering and he rubbed them furiously, but at least he was regular sized. Sorta. “What are you doing here out in the woods?”

 

“I asked you first??” She panted, clutching her shoulder again. The forest was spinning around her and the adrenaline was starting to tire her out. “W-who fuckin… dresses… like that… you s-sick freak?”

 

“Excuse me?” Turtle boy took an affronted step backward, the same time she started stumbling. When she slumped over and just barely caught herself on the ground, his face changed and all attention zeroed in on her shoulder. “Oh, Maker is that…?”

 

“She's been shot.” Someone said, probably the idiot who she hit with a stick, but it could have been any three of the idiots as far as she was concerned.

 

Someone hissed, “ _Darkspawn._.. do you think she has the taint?”

 

“Look at her! She's basically already a corpse.”

 

“Hey, fuck you,” she said weakly. End of the line. Cinna tried to catch her breath as the guys all started freaking out around her. Someone grabbed her arm and she hissed, rearing back at them. “D-don’t touch me!”

 

“You're going to die here if we don't move you someplace else.” Turtle boy dusted her with a fine covering of dirt as he bent down to try and help her. She slapped his hands away a second time, and he narrowed his eyes. “Why are you being difficult? You're only going to make things harder on yourself.”

 

“Maybe, and consider this a _shot in the dark_ ,” she grunted as he hauled her to her feet and she weakly tried to shove him away. “The three amigos wandering around in the forest with weapons attacking me sounds weird as hell and I don't trust you???”

 

“She’s got you there, _Alistair._ ” Short dark arrow guy nodded, sliding his bow into his back as turtle guy struggled to keep her from falling over.

 

“This is really, really great.” Cinna rolled her head over and took in the griffon plastered to turtle guy’s armor (nicely dented, thanks to her sweet kick) and laughed. “Oh my god, I'm really dying aren't I? _Jesus_ Christ.”

 

“You're not going to die,” said Alistair, though he didn't sound quite so convinced. He gestured to the other two standing around doing nothing. “Ser Jory, go get Davith. We’re heading back to camp early. Make sure to tell him to bring bandages.”

 

“Take me to a hospital??” She stumbled on a root, so he was more carrying her than actually helping her walk. “If I end up dying in the back of your truck or horse and carriage I'm going to lose my _entire mind_.”

 

“The whole thing? Not just half?” Shortie with the bow kept up with them easily, despite the heavy chest plate and boots. And short legs. And shitty attitude. _Couldn’t he tell she was a victim?_

 

“The half went sometime after I got shot. I don't…I do…” the words stopped coming after a while, and all she saw was green and brown. Her arm burned— _it itched,_ all the way down to her fingers and into her chest. Alistair had her only good arm slung around his shoulder and the bad one dangled, sopping wet in her jacket.

 

“Hey… hey, are you still there?” He cursed something she didn't understand and started walking faster, but her feet were too heavy to move. “Uumm, Aeducan? Can you uh—can you tell if she's—oh Maker what a mess.”

 

“Don't walk towards the light,” said the dwarf, and she… Aeducan sounded so…. Alistair adjusted his hold on her arm and….

 

“You said I had the taint..?” She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all—at the bows and arrows, the full suits of armor, but instead she closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “I'm...going to be sick.”

 

“What?” Said Alistair, before she did just that, and he dropped her. “Shit!”

 

“Alistair did you really just drop her—?!”

 

“Fuciibggbg g g hhhgghhhhhh….” she retched again, clutching her arm, her stomach, her—whatever. It was a horrible experience in general and her blonde hair clung to her clammy skin as she hung her head, a million miles away from home, and none the wiser

 

She closed her eyes and prayed for the end. “This is… a nightmare…”

 

And thus, Cinna had her first bad experience in Thedas, among many, many more.

 


	2. Peer Pressure And Kool-Aid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cinna cries in public and makes some real unfortunate life choices, pertaining but not limited to: a secret blood ritual with the boys

Cinna cracked open her eyes with an empty expression her face, a rag bunched up under head head and a scratchy blanket wrapped around her legs. “This is the worst hospital I've ever seen.”

 

“Sadly, this isn't a hospital; you're in Ostagar, and we’re glad you're still with us.”

 

Cinna turned her eyes towards an older man with a full beard, and… another full set of armour. She groaned and covered her face with her hand. “I'm _not_.”

 

He chuckled, sitting himself down on a nearby stump, because _that_ was how destitute and shitty their situation was. Ostagar, really? _Ugh_.

 

“Well, if that's the case, I could always ask Alistair to carry you back out to the Korcari wilds. What business did you have there anyway, if I may ask?”

 

“You _may_ ask that. I _may_ not answer,” she said cheekily, glancing up at him through her fingers. She moved to sit up, so she wasn't just looking straight up at his nose while they talked, but the burning sensation in her arm kept her from doing anything.

 

“Careful, you only just got patched up.” He watched her carefully as she observed her surroundings more carefully, and then eased herself into a sitting position, despite his warning. He smiled. “Well, you certainly have a will of your own, I suppose that's how you seemed to survive a Genlock attack. I am Duncan, and it's a good thing you ran into my recruits when you did.”

 

He offered his right hand to shake, and she started at it for a second, before she used her left and shook it awkwardly. He found that funny too. What was she, some sort of clown? “Your men _dropped_ me, you should teach them to… do less of that.”

 

“I suppose I should.”

 

He leaned back on his stump-chair and took her in. The doctors had peeled off her heavy coat and sweater, cutting through the fabric when it snagged on the twisted prices of arrow embedded in her shoulder. She remembered it in bits and pieces, not because they offered her sedatives, but because she _passed out from the pain_ . Now, she was left in nothing but her tank top and jeans, and she felt quite exposed. The healers weren't animals, they had at least dressed her wound with strips of cloth, but the _smell_ coming from her arm was uncomfortably rancid, and she could barely move her right hand. She also felt like someone set her veins on fire, but she had a feeling Duncan already knew that on account of how snappy she was being with him.

 

Cinna cleared her throat. God, it wasn't like he shot her in the shoulder—why did she have to be such a salty bitch? “Um,  sorry. I’m just… a little out of sorts. You said I was in in what forest again?”

 

“The Korcari wilds. You haven't heard of it?” That seemed to trouble him, and he looked at her again as if he was questioning whether or not she was fully lucid. Surely, she wasn't, because why else would she be talking to a dude dressed in armor, in a place like this? But if her brain could kick things up a notch and dull the pain, she’d appreciate it. Mostly, she was just uncomfortable.

 

It occurred to her that maybe saying all of this wasn't real was just a shitty way to cope with the fact that someone shot her with a pointed arrow full of hate, and that she had maybe played a hand in her would-be attacker’s death. If she was competent, she'd probably put on her big-kid-pants and accept that this was really happening, and she really had come that close to death. She would thank Duncan for saving her life, and apologize to turtle-boy for drop kicking him, and for it being _so easy_.

 

But really, all she wanted was to go home.

 

“My dad… I wasn't the only one in the woods- do you know if he and my sister are okay?”

 

Duncan’s face was gentle. “We did…. come across a few victims to the darkspawn...”

 

“Did they look like me? Did they have dogs with them?” She felt like throwing up all over again—the heat in her veins and the fever wrecking her body was nothing against the chill that went through her at the thought of Ella and her dad being dead. “ _Please_ -”

 

“We didn't find any dogs,” he said, but it was enough.

 

“Then you didn't find them,” she said stubbornly.

 

Ella’s dogs would have rather died than leave her in danger like that. The same with her dad— they were loyal to the eldest in their family, which was why they were always a pain for _her_ to deal with. They were stupid, yes, but the only reason why they ran off into the first place was because they knew their property, it was supposed to be _safe._ Shit like this just _didn't happen._

 

Duncan watched her relax slightly. He didn't seem convinced, but didn't want to put her through any more stress. She appreciated it. “What's your name?”

 

“Cinna Starosta,” she glanced up at him and tried not to grimace. “Like the spice, cinnamon. I come from a family of… really enthusiastic bakers. You can laugh, it's fine. _But only once._ ”

 

“I'll save it for later, then.” He smiled at her, and she swore his eyes seem to glint, like some sort of super buff, metal Santa-Claus. She silently begged for drugs to stop her fever.

 

With her good hand, she swiped it across her forehead to keep the sweat out of her eyes. It was like she was in a sauna. When she looked down at her hand, a part of her wasn't even surprised when her skin was white and splotchy, almost stripped of color. Her fingernails were purple, and the veins in her arm and trailing down her wrist looked blackened under the skin.

 

Black veins. That wasn’t a good sign. “This is when you tell me I have nothing to worry about, right?”

 

Sadly, his expression said it all. “Cinna… I'm sorry. There's nothing we can do to stop the taint, I'm afraid it's incurable.”

 

“Right… yeah…”

 

She knew this story, quite well, actually. Knew the whole song and dance. Duncan and his merry band of grey wardens. She still didn't want to believe it—it was easier not to. But the pain in her arm and the fire burning in her veins was irrefutable evidence of what was going on. This was _reality._ This was _happening._ And she was dying.

 

Part of her wanted to go wandering back into the Korcari wilds to find her family, and another part of her just wanted to curl up and die. That was probably the taint talking, actually, or the squishy weak part of her brain that evolved from the humble sea cucumber. She was a prey animal by nature; she didn't _do_ life and death situations, or even going outside. Her dad had been _right_ —this wasn't her place to be. She knew that. She also knew she had two choices.

 

Take the time she had left to die a slow, horrible death, and turn into one of those Genlock things, or do the joining and die quickly and agonizingly. Sure, she had a slim chance at survival, but she knew how the odds weren't stacked in her favour and at least it death would be fast.

 

But at least she could make a choice to die trying.

 

God, listen to her. What a fucking big shot, she was. Making all sorts of decisions on her own. She wondered if it was too late for her to get up and go wandering back into the forest in hopes of getting back to her car and being driven to the hospital. Doctors could cure a magical, non-existent disease, right?

 

Hah. Hahahahaha. _Ahahahahahahahaha._

 

“...are you alright?” Duncan hovered uncomfortably by her side as she wiped under her eyes and struggled to catch her breath. Her nose was running again, and he offered her a handkerchief. God, she fucking hated crying in front of people. What a _nightmare._ “There are other alternatives. the grey wardens have—”

 

“A way to cheat the taint, yeah I know.” She passed the hankey back to him and fully pulled herself into a sitting position, which took far more energy than she liked. The camp spun around her, and she closed her eyes in pain as her head throbbed. She'd kill for an Advil right now. “You sure you're willing to let me on the team? You have no idea what's you'd be taking on.”

 

Duncan’s eyebrows raised, and he looked at her appraising. “Well, I heard you have a rather good kick. We could use people like you.”

 

“Good answer.” She smirked at him and gestured for him to help her into her feet. Already, she could feel the taint slowing her down, eating away at her limbs. It worked _so fast_. “Just… don't laugh when I end up passing out in front of everyone.”

 

“I wouldn't dream of it,” he smiled.

 

X

 

“You're here! I thought…”  

 

Cinna waved off Alistair’s concern as she eased herself into the joining room… temple… place… the large stone walls were nice and cold against her clammy skin, and though she all but slammed herself onto the nearest wall, the pain in her shoulder was barely even bothering her anymore. Sweat was dripping down her face and hair, soaking into her clothes, but the stone walls were a welcome relief.

 

Basically, Duncan had escorted her into the building ten minutes late after everyone had gathered and she was already crumpled on the floor. Life of the party, that was Cinna Starosta, damn straight.

 

“Are you sure… she's okay?” Asked what she assumed was Ser Jory.

 

“Duncan? What's she doing here?” That was Daveth. He was younger than she expected, shorter too, but then again everyone kinda looked shit with the game textures. Now, everyone was flesh and blood and _so alive._ In five minutes Cinna was going to be one jealous ghost.

 

“She’ll be joining us, for your joining,” the elder warden said, earning a weak little laugh from Cinna’s direction.

 

“Maker, as least you're still capable of laughter,” muttered Alistair, not expecting her to hear and therefore not expecting her to toss a small stone at him from her crumpled position on the ground. He jumped, rubbing his elbow. “Ow!!”

 

“Ass,” she croaked, peering up at him with red, watery eyes.

 

Everyone looked a lot less greasy in real life—Alistair, to his credit, had washed the dirt out of his hair and changed out of his vomit-ey armour, into a fresh set of clothes. Surprisingly enough, he didn't seem to have any facial hair. It only made his baby face more apparent.

 

“Hey, turtle-boy, how are your shoes doing?”

 

“Just fine, _thank you._ ” He looked down at her, frowning, falling for her bait and forgetting for a moment that she was basically seconds from death. That was the Starosta way, after all. Jackass to the very end. “And what did you just call me?”

 

“I just figured since you had so much trouble getting off your back you were used to it. Part of the lifestyle and all, getting flipped over. I have other names if you prefer, but good on you for learning how to roll.”

 

His face was scarlet, and he took a step forward. “ _You_ —”

 

She smiled up at him, interrupting whatever it was he was about to say. “Me??”

 

“Children. _Tone it down._ ” Ah, Duncan. He looked disapprovingly at the both of them, though only Alistair seemed to shrink under his gaze. Cinna was too busy dying to really give a shit-; she had reached an eerie sort of zen and couldn't feel her fingers anymore.

 

Once he turned his back to them Cinna stuck her tongue out at the junior warden and he looked like he wanted to explode.

 

“Heheheh.”

 

“Antagonizing your saviours, quite the brave move,” said the last recruit, Aeducan, watching her to the side. Despite his words he seemed pretty amused. He was the.. dwarf noble origin, right? He didn't look like the default version—much darker and more clean cut than she expected, especially from a race that usually had beards. He'd make a good saviour of the blight after she kicked the bucket.

 

Duncan had a pinched expression as he ignored them and started his monologue about Grey Warden history. “The Grey Wardens were founded during the first blight, when humanity stood on the edge of annihilation.”

 

Funny how he said humanity. That meant like, the Qunari were cool, right? They could probably just hop on their ships and sail to someplace with a lot less trouble. The dwarves were probably fucked, then. And the elves…. well, they were always kind of fucked, weren't they? Before the blight, and after. It just goes to show how when the humans were down on their luck it was _their_ suffering they remembered through history. Not the other races they stepped all over to try and survive.

 

“So it was, that the first grey wardens drank of darkspawn blood, and mastered their _taint—”_

 

Don't laugh, don't laugh, don't _laugh, goddamnit_ —

 

“You are such a child,” Alistair muttered, shaking his head.

 

Duncan cleared his throat. No matter what the poor guy did something derailed his super awesome and foreboding speech. It wasn't her fault, really.

 

“We’re… going to drink the blood of those… those creatures?” There was Jory, just as expected. Cinna really hoped they weren't going to be this boring the whole time and say some new shit.

 

Duncan nodded. “...As the first Grey Wardens before us, as we did before you.”

 

“Glug glug, I'm ready.” Cinna opened her arms to the skies. The men around her remained very depressed and worried about their little mortal lives. Didn't they know she was on a time limit? “Bring on the forbidden kool-aid.”

 

“That's… not at all what it is. At all.” Alistair had the most horrified look on his face. What was he, like twelve? Okay maybe she was making light of something that was super super serious, maybe she should shut up for a while.

 

They said their piece and Alistair did his little speech. It was all very solemn and heavy between the men as they struggled under the weight of their own mortality and their choices but Cinna was drifting off in the middle of it and couldn't catch it all. At some point she had stopped sweating, which was probably… bad. Her shoulder stank to high heaven and she felt like she had the worst case of jungle mouth on the planet, but it was probably something to do with the fact that all of her organs were rotting from the inside out. It sure felt that way.

 

When Duncan brought out the chalice. She was surprised and a little disappointed to see it was a regular sized cup. He brought it to her first, probably because nobody had any faith she would survive waiting, and she pulled herself up against the wall so she stood, like a dignified fool on death row. Might as well face her death standing up, right? Better that than on her back.

 

She had already cried like three times today, and it wasn't like she had the fluids to actually start sobbing as a last little spark of fear coursed through her as she took the stupid cup. She choked up a bit though, which was probably a bad idea since she was supposed to be drinking. Now was also a bad time to be hyper aware of the fact that she had a weak stomach, and could throw up easily—Alistair could attest to that, and… damnit. God damnit, she was stalling. She was such a fucking chicken.

 

“Chug, chug, chug…”

 

Aeducan leaned over to Alistair. “Why is she saying that?”

 

“It happens a lot,” he said under his breath.

 

“FUCK IT.” It was _just like taking a shot._ She willed herself to focus— _It'd be the only thing to make her get better._

 

She pinched the bridge of her nose, knocked the drink back and held her head high, swallowing before the thick liquid could pool in her mouth and touch her tongue.

 

Duncan took the cup from her before she could drop it and die probably—he expected her to, as did the others, who moved forward to catch her, expecting her legs to give out. Hell, _she_ expected them to go out—

 

What she didn't expect was to be totally fine, if a little dizzy.

 

She looked at Duncan, who was looking at her, looking at him. Expecting…. anything else.

 

She ran her tongue over the roof of her mouth. “God.. okay, does anyone have a lemon?”

 

“Is… that it?” Alistair stared at her.

 

Duncan was silent, still expecting her to crumble and be struck dead. Daveth was next, looking between her and the cup and his anxious brothers, before he steeled himself. “Well, if that’s all… fine. Piece of cake. Bring it on.”

 

Of course, it was _not_ a piece of cake. His body fell to the ground a moment later, and their heads shot to his lifeless corpse, and then to Cinna, standing off to the side, _Totally and utterly okay._

 

“See, _that_ —” she gestured to poor Daveth on the ground. “That was what _I_ was expecting.”

 

And then of course ser Jory pulled out his sword and it all went to hell.

  
  



	3. Cinna says stupid things and makes no friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which nobody really knows what to do with Cinna, not even her

So she witnessed two people’s horrible deaths in the span of two minutes and somehow ended up the most well-off recruit of the bunch. The cream of the crop. The last man standing. Literally the last person standing. The bar could not get lower.  

 

“I still don't understand.. how do you feel?” Duncan was watching her like a hawk and Alistair seemed torn between mourning for Jory and Daveth and acting like she grew a second head. 

 

“No side effects, no visions, feelings in your stomach or black spots? Maker, that's incredible.” 

 

“Hold on...” she coughed into her hand and put her other one (her bad hand, which somehow seemed to have gained some mobility? The pain was receding…) on her stomach. Okay, yeah, maybe there was a bit of indigestion.  

 

“Duncan did you see that?” Alistair was suddenly in her space and looking into her eyes. She put up her hands to put some distance between them. “Maybe it was a trick of the light? But… did her eyes flash white for a second?” 

 

Duncan seemed thoughtful, watching her from a distance she greatly appreciated. “If that's the case, it'd be the gentlest joining I've ever seen.” 

 

“Please tell me that my eyes are normal again,” she said worriedly. “I like my eyes the way they are. I also like being alive, so like, if the joining didn't work and I still have the taint-” 

 

“You’re standing without any assurance, I would say that's a good sign.” 

 

Cinna breathed a sigh of relief, and ran a hand through her hair. Gross, she probably stank like corpse and BO. As other wardens came into the temple to move away the bodies and take Aeducan to a bedroll so he could rest up, she crossed her arms over her chest and stood there awkwardly, not sure what to do with herself. 

 

Two people had just… died. Just like that. The fact that she had to witness one of them get stabbed and fight for his life was not something she just… felt comfortable about. 

 

Duncan and Alistair were talking animatedly between one another, sending her occasional glances. She stared at them and listened in, but it was mostly them just trying to figure out what to do with her. 

 

“Sooooo, uhhh..” the whispering immediately stopped and they looked at her. “Is there someplace I could get a shower?” Silence. “A bath?” 

 

Duncan sighed. He still had blood on his armor. She stared at it far longer than necessary. “There's a river nearby for bathing, but I'd be cautious going down at night. We have buckets and basins of water down by the blue tents- Alistair can show you the way.” 

 

Alistair at him sharply, then back to her. “I will?” 

 

“Do you have anything else planned?” 

 

“Well, no, but I-” 

 

Cinna was already walking out of the shitty ruined temple. “You said it was this way?” 

 

“H-hold on!” Alistair jogged to catch up with her, faster now that he didn't have clunk armor weighing him down. It was almost surreal, walking next to him. Kinda weird, actually. 

 

She shot him a sideways glance, and he caught her staring. 

 

“Sorry, do I have something on my face?” 

 

“Besides your face?” She shrugged, and instantly regretted it. Drinking the blighted kool-aid had gotten rid of her fever and the infection, but it hadn't sewn her shoulder back up. Owww. “I just expected you to be taller, is all.” 

 

“I beg your pardon?” 

 

_ Don't say it-  _

 

“Then  _ beg _ ?” 

 

“What am I, some sort of _dog?_ _Woof._ ” Alistair scoffed and stopped walking. “You know, I don't _have_ to show you where to do if you don't want me around.”

 

“Sorry!! Sorry, I…damnit.” She turned around and cringed. God, she was really making an ass out of herself, wasn't she? Two people had just died. “I just… say shit like that when I'm stressed to get a rise out of people. I'm sorry, I don't mean to be such a jackass… this is all just a giant freaking nightmare.” 

 

It was better than shutting down and going catatonic, which she sort of felt like doing right now. Usually, that required a comfy bed or a safe space, which was nowhere to be seen at all for the moment. So she defaulted to being an  _ asshole.  _

 

He nodded slowly though, so maybe he sort of understood. “...Apology accepted.”

 

They started walking again and she hooked her thumbs into her belt loops, since her jeans had  _ fake women’s pockets _ . She caught him raise an eyebrow at her jeans, but he quickly looked away when he took in her tank top. She missed her sweater and her heavy jacket. The healers had totally done them in when they cut her out of them. 

 

They made their way across the camp. It was both a lot smaller than she initially expected, and more packed with people. Despite the late night, activity was still at an all-time high and things were going on. Swords to be delivered, messages, meeting to be held. Duncan had gone to speak with more important people than them and Aeducan was supposed to be out cold… at least for a little while, but he was alive. It still hadn't really sunken in that two people were dead, but by the time Alistair had led her to the bathing tent and gestured for her to go and do her girly thing she had mostly wiped the image of Dunkan sinking his blade into Jory’s side out of her memory. For the most part. 

 

“Do you seriously think me washing my face is a girl thing?” She grimaced and looked at him. “Do you want pimples? Because that's how you get pimples.” 

 

“I'll have you know I wash my face all the time,  _ thank you. _ I wasn't raised in a barn. _ ”  _ He paused, thoughtfully. “For the most part.” 

 

“I worry that I'll start worrying for you.” 

 

The tent was empty when she walked in. The cold of nighttime still haven't hit her yet- a product of her fever coming down, maybe- but she rubbed her arms as she looked around. It was real bare bones. Alistair stood outside and looked like he wanted to bolt but she told him to hang tight and that she was just going to wash her face. 

 

There were barrels of water she dipped her good hand into, which was  _ freezing. _ At first she went about getting the built off sweat off her face and neck, but it turned into an impromptu spongebath. She all but dunked her head into the basin by the time she finished, her blonde hair was dripping down her back and she was  _ freezing cold  _ but she was cleaner than she started out. She dimly realized that her roots were starting to show now that her hair was wet, and she'd go back to be a brunette if she was well and truly stuck in Thedas. 

 

She moved to pull it back and comb her fingers through her hair but the bandages on her shoulder caught, and she hissed out in pain. She was going to be so screwed when shit her the fan. Well and truly doomed. Her best bet would be to sneak out sometime tonight when nobody was watching, or to stick by Alistair and Aeducan’s side or something when the battle started, but even trying to wrap her head around the fact that  _ this  _ was her reality now gave her a headache. It was too late and she was too exhausted. 

 

Alistair tossed her a towel once she came back out. “Oh, so you  _ are  _ a girl under all that gunk after all!” 

 

“Okay, I deserve that.” With one hand she towels off her bangs and some of the hair she could reach, but left the rest. He stood awkwardly, probably seeing how much she was struggling but not wanting to impose without insulting her or something. Which was nice, because she already felt super exposed in her tank top and didn't like people touching her anyway. 

 

A moment later she left the towel draped over her shoulder and gave up. She kicked at the ground beneath her boots and waited for him to say something- but he seemed to be waiting for her to say something first and let him off the hook so he could go scurrying back to Duncan. She glanced up at him. 

 

He was so young. God- it just kept hitting her how much of a kid he really was. Even if he was like, six foot, something. She was above average height for a girl, and they were basically eye level. In her head though, she pictured some sort of towering prince in shining armor, but he was more like a baby-faced university student with no idea what the world had in store for him. 

 

...admittedly, she saw a lot of herself in him. Uncomfortably so. 

 

“Hey, sooo…” she cleared her throat and looked back down to the ground. “How long have you been a grey warden?” 

 

He seemed relieved to be talking about something he knew about. “About two years, I think? Duncan rescued me from Templar training around 9:29 dragon, soooo maybe a bit less than that. It's hard to keep track of things when you're running drills so often.” 

 

Cinna paled at the thought. She wasn't exactly athletic material- actually, she had a sneaking suspicion she was allergic. Asthma ran in her family, but really it preferred to walk. Actually, it started wheezing when it walked up the stairs. “That sounds… really great.” 

 

She went quiet, trying to collect her thoughts. 

 

“Do you think… you know, with my whole, uh, joining…” she pursed her lips and glanced up at him- but he was looking back at her expectantly and she started to panic. “Forget it. Doesn't matter- tell me about Duncan or something else instead.” 

 

“No, no- what were you going to ask?” He seemed genuinely interested- she didn't know if he would laugh at her or not, so she steeled herself and readied a slew of insults in her head if he did so. 

 

“Do you think it counted?” She rubbed the sore spot on her shoulder, gently. She didn't want to start bleeding out all over the place. “I know the joining is supposed to be a big grand gesture of  _ brotherhood  _ and unity or whatever but that felt like… a total fluke. What do you think?” 

 

They started walking in some direction in the camp. Cinna wasn't sure where, but it was a good enough distraction for a moment.

 

“I think…” he said gently, as if he was afraid of hurting her delicate little feelings. “I don't know. There's a lot of things we don't know about the ritual still, and it's always different for everyone. You're alive, so that's pretty good! Celebrate that, I think- better confused and living than knowing and… not.” 

 

“...Sorry about Jory and Daveth.” She wanted to put her hands in her pockets but once again was stopped by the plague of nonexistent decorations masquerading as pockets. Instead, she crossed her arms and hunched over, freezing cold now that her hair was wet. 

 

“It's not your fault, it's an unfortunate part of what being a grey warden is about,” he said distractedly, eyes darting around the camp as they walked. They passed by several tents and shelters set up for soldiers for the night, and he looked back at her. “You should try finding a bed before they're taken- go talk to Marie, she's one of the officers in charge of setting everyone up…. Oh, wait, before I forget--” 

 

He fished something out of his pocket and handed it to her. Cinna looked down at the tiny bottle attached to a cord, with… weird, dark fluid inside, not sure what to do with it. 

 

“It’s your warden’s oath. We all get them when we join,” he explained. 

 

“Oh, um, thanks.” She looked back up at him and… swallowed the lump in her throat. She turned to walk further into the camp, palming the little trinket, but paused. “Hey, Alistair?” 

 

He was already walking back in the direction of Duncan’s tent, and barely seemed to hear her. She spoke a little louder, so he’d hear, but not too loud to wake the nearby sleeping soldiers. 

 

“Thanks for the help.” 

 

He gave her a friendly thumbs up and walked off, leaving her alone once and for all. 

 

She looked back down at the trinket in her hands.  _ Her warden’s oath.  _

 

If she wanted to escape the impending disaster at Ostagar, now was the time…

  
  



	4. Can't Catch A Breaj

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cinna proves why she's just not cut out for this warden business, and the universe *cough* plot *cough* gives her a great big middle finger

 

Cinna knew herself. She knew her limits—she knew the kind of person she was. She was brash, a loudmouth, she was a dumbass more than she was clever, and she had a hard time trusting other people. She didn't think highly of herself, her body, basically anything, but she did know what kind of person she was in the world. She was a little fish, a coward, the kind of person you could admire maybe for being a good friend, or because they were nice, sometimes, but not the kind of person who did heroic things or even smart things.

 

She stayed the night in the camp. Why? Why did she do that? If she knew the outcome of the battle and the impending danger, why didn't she abandon ship the moment she could stand on her own two feet?

 

The answer was, she was scared. If the rest of Thedas existed out there, past Ostagar (which it did, if Ostagar existed and everything else did, she was in Thedas and it was all real) then that meant her house was gone, her family gone, and realistically? Her entire life was gone now. She wanted to find a way back, but that would probably mean poking around in darkspawn infested woods, which would only get worse as the horde approached. And it did. With every waking hour, it would pass over Ferelden like a steamroller and regardless of her existence she would have to bide her time for a year, and that was only if there was a way for her to get back and she wasn't stuck in Thedas for the rest of her life.

 

...Which would probably be short and painful now that she had sold her soul to the grey wardens. It wasn't like she had much of a choice, but being robbed of a long healthy life had her burning on the inside.

 

It was safe to say, she didn't sleep much that night.

 

She shared a tent with two eleven women— a couple years older than her, at the very least, who didn't seem to mind her intrusion as long now as she didn't hog all the blankets. the bar was set pretty low in terms of tent-mates, and she got the impression that she wasn't really welcomed among them and the rest of the eleven campers but she didn't really have many options. Despite the inclusivity that the wardens preached, the camp was tightly segregated, and even the women were at a 6:1 disadvantage.

 

She felt distinctly othered amongst them all—including the humans because she wasn't a fighter had no idea how to defend herself other than sheer force of stupid. Kara and Catori were nice enough and offered to show her to the training tent the next day as they bedded down, but she got the distinct feeling that the two women were only saying that to be polite so she wouldn't shank them in their sleep or anything.

 

She woke up several times, and each time she found herself achingly disappointed that it wasn't just a dream.

 

It was real, she found herself repeating as she peeled off her bedroll and followed the women to breakfast. It was real, and she almost died, and saw two other people die, and would see more soon. It was terrifying, to look out at the tables of people, short and tall, human, elven and dwarven, and to know that nobody would make it through the darkspawn attack. Every single one would throw themselves at the darkspawn with everything they had, and it wouldn't be enough. Loghain would pull out and abandon them, and she was just… there. Floating amongst them all with that horrible, horrible knowledge.

 

She hoped there would be deserters. Lots of them—enough to make a difference, and that maybe some of them would make it to their families in time and they would run or to Kirkwall or something.

 

Kara had found her a nice white blouse for her to wear over her tank top and they had found a spare vest in a donation pile. It pressed uncomfortably on her shoulder, so she left it unbuttoned as she chewed on a piece of bread.

 

Catori had warmed up to her a bit and was telling her and Kara a story about her life in the Denerim alienage when Alistair’s head poked up amongst the crowd and Cinna made eye contact with him.

 

“Oh, are you done already? You barely ate anything.” Kara tossed her the rest of her bread as she got up and Cinna just barely caught it. The elf scrunched up her nose. “You desperately need to work on your coordination.”

 

“I caught an arrow, didn't I?” She gestured to her shoulder and the two laughed.

 

She took a little satisfaction in that as she made her way through the crowded eating area. It was almost like high school all over again—now, with more leering stares and much, much older men. The eyes trailing after her gave her the chills.

 

Aeducan was up and fully awake now, and she supposed he was feeling the full effects of being a warden now. Hungry, strong, and … connected to all the other people but her room In a way she just couldn’t grasp. She gave him her bread roll.

 

“Thanks,” he said, surprised. Standing amongst the crowd he was really just another pretty face, but she knew he used to be royalty. It probably tasted like cardboard to him anyway, but it was the thought that counted. He looked up at her. “Aren't you hungry?”

 

She shook her head the same time Alistair looked at her, affronted, and asked: “What about me?”

 

“You can share if you want, but there's literally a basket full of them right over there.” She poured over her shoulder for good measure, shooting him a nonplussed look. “I just thought since Aeducan was in a blight-coma, he might be a little worse off than you.”

 

“Thanks…” The dwarf cleared his throat awkwardly and pursed his lips. “But I'd prefer it if you called me by my first name. Duran is the only one I really have anymore.”

 

“Right, sorry, my bad.” Admittedly, she hadn't played much of the dwarf noble backstory, but she knew the sort of attention a royal name like that brought.

 

They walked to the training fields and Cinna followed the two, ignoring everything Alistair was saying in favor of daydreaming about royalty and why so many of them decided to end up in Ostagar. With Duran, that made four. Not counting her, obviously, (if you counted being a royal pain in the ass). She distinctly remembered some random trivia about Duncan being some lord’s illegitimate son she read a million years ago.

 

She had her eyes on Alistair’s back as he talked. Nothing about him really spoke of king material, not like Aeducan-er, Duran. The dark dwarf reeked of poshness and refinement, even in the way he walked. Despite being two feet shorter than her, he still had a presence that attracted attention, and she wondered what it must've been like to have witnessed him among his people.

 

Alistair was just… some guy. Definitely more polished than the hippies and cowpoke in her hometown, but it didn't take much do better than that. If an entire group of people could be boiled down to ‘sweatpants, stoner hoodie and gumboots’ then that… was what she had to put up with. Take a wild guess why she was permanently single—and no, it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she never left her house.

 

“...Now that you're both Grey wardens, you're expected to be able to carry yourself In a fight against the darkspawn.” Alistair had led them both into a nice grassy field with a couple training dummies and a bench nearby. He turned and looked expectantly at Cinna. “I know what Duran is capable of.”

 

“...congrats?” She glanced at the dwarf and he was also looking at her, waiting.

 

“You weren't paying attention at all, were you? That whole speech about learning how to defend yourself and the horrors of war. None of it?” Alistair shot her a sad puppy-dog look, though she was sure he meant it to be disapproving. “It took me ages to remember the whole thing. I have flashcards and everything.”

 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Can I see them?”

 

“Absolutely not, I burned them, thinking this would be the last time I would ever have to give the speech. I see now that I was wrong.”

 

“That's bullshit but I admire your dedication to a bit.” She scratched her head and tried to recall a word of he said before. She sighed nothing but gumboots and royalty. Royalty and gumboots. That'd be such a look, maybe in the future, she could convince Alistair or Aeducan to—

 

“Please focus, I don't like being serious twice In a row.” Alistair looked particularly ruffled as he went over his speech again, with much less enthusiasm. “Swords, shields, bows, and daggers—something will stick and we’ll expand from there. I don't know what sort of heavy lifting you might do on your downtime but a maul is out of the question for the moment until you can beat one of us in an arm wrestle-”

 

“How is that supposed to be serious?” She scoffed. “All I need to do to beat you in an arm wrestle is to poke one of you in the eyes with my other hand!”

 

“Spoken like a rogue.” Duran nodded to Alistair and tossed her a bow, which she inevitably failed to catch.

 

“You were supposed to… did you even try to…ugh.” Alistair bent down and picked it up for her.

 

“Honestly, I have no idea why Duncan let me become a grey warden other than out of pity. I have absolutely none of the right qualities.”

 

Her hand-eye coordination was hell. She couldn't catch anything to save her life...Maybe that was why she caught the blight so fast?

 

“I don't believe that. I'm sure you've got… qualities that you're completely unaware of.” Alistair winced and began listing them off. “Let's see… you’re fast on your feet when needed, like when you ambushed us. You know your limitations, that's good. Overzealous fighters are often the first to go down.”

 

“And she managed to catch a trained soldier off guard and kick him onto his back,” said a very cheeky Duran, shooting Alistair a knowing smile.

 

“Hey, that does kind of make me feel better,” said Cinna, smiling.

 

“Well, good, as long as we’re all laughing at my expense.” Muttered the ex-Templar.

 

“He asked me if I was a Mage when we first met, can you believe that?” Duran was absolutely going after Alistair without mercy. The poor guy turned a shade of pink—she found it didn't take much to embarrass him. “A  _ Mage! _ I must be the shortest Mage in all of existence. I might as well hand in my maul and call it a day.”

 

“Didn't you have a bow and arrow when we first met?” Cinna asked. “I distinctly remember you threatening me with it.”

 

“I was bluffing.” He said it so easily, he had her shook. “What? I grabbed the closest thing I could find, and it worked out well enough, right? Jory basically dropped it the second you swung that branch.”

 

And then their laughter got a little bit more solemn, and then a little quieter. Alistair was the first to speak. “I wonder if there's anything we can do for his wife and kid…”

 

“He said his wife was in Highever, right? Maybe when this is all over we can send her something in the mail.” Duran looked at his hands.

 

She liked the optimism, and let them dream a bit when she knew full well the outcome of this battle. “It's probably against the rules or something to contact family…”

 

“We could probably bend them in this case. Just a tad.” Alistair looked a bit stricken, but he shook it off. “Now, what were we doing?”

 

“Finding my inner worth?”

 

“That's the spirit.” Alistar handed her the bow. “Go on, try it.”

 

She looked at the bow in her hand, up at him, then at her bandaged shoulder. “One problem.”

 

“Ah. Riiiiiiight….”

 

The two men glanced at one another, helplessly. Duran purses his lips. “We could give her some knives?”

 

“Maker, she's going to be eaten alive.” Alistair covered his face with his hands. He took a deep breath, and, pretending he hadn't just been brutally honest with her, ordered her to start walking. “Okay, we’re going to get you to an arcane healer and THEN we’ll see how many knives you can carry.”

 

“That sounds dangerous. What if I fall?”

 

“Try falling on the darkspawn,” said Duran, following after them. He seemed to match their pace, even with his itty bitty legs. Then again, Cinna wasn't a very fast walker. Probably had something to do with the fact that she was a perpetual couch potato.

 

They neared the mage’s tents and she eyed the templars camped nearby. Men and women dressed in shiny, pointy armor, swinging their swords and looking intimidating. One of them smiled at her as they went by.  _ What a creep. _

 

Alistair started talking to a Templar at the gate when they didn't immediately move aside.

 

“What do you mean the healers are busy? You don't even have like, one person who can wave their fingers and…” Cinna picked at her nails as Alistair fought a losing battle. “Wait, that bad? Oh, uh. Yikes. Wow, Um. I'm ...so sorry? I had no idea. Wow, um, maker, you can stop with the detail—ok. Yeah. Thank you.”

 

He turned to them with a pinched expression on his face.

 

“So, good news and bad news. Good news for you, Cinna, you can basically just… go and do whatever you want.”

 

She pursed her lips. “And the bad news?”

 

“You can't participate in the battle with a shoulder like that.”

 

“That's also good news, I don't understand.” She glanced at Duran, who shrugged. Alistair shot her an affronted look as if she was supposed to want to go out in a blaze of glory, like everyone else in camp, but she shook her head. “Look, there's always... the next battle, right? I'll be cheering you on from the sidelines.”

 

“I… guess…?” He said with distaste. Off to the side, some Templars started shouting and creating a commotion and drew their attention.

 

Whatever it was, had gotten out of hand. A group of mages puffing up their chests and not taking whatever it was the Templars were saying. Which, good for them, because, after a thousand years of shitty treatment, it was bound to happen, but eventually the Templars ran out of patients.

 

Alistair watched the fight with growing disapproval. “Come on, let's get out of here before something happens—”

 

And of course, that was when something did happen, and the whole area was washed in energy and every Mage within thirty feet crumpled to the ground, as well as Cinna.

 

“Ghhhhhdhf what the…?” It felt like someone had just sucker punched her in the gut. Her head spun, in a whole other way than when it did when she had been dying of the blight, and she just barely had enough sense to yelp when someone grabbed her bad arm to try and help her up.

 

“Sorry!!!” Alistair quickly switched to her other one as he tried to help her up. She stumbled into him, cursing. He looked down at her and waved a hand in front of her face, before worriedly looked down at Duran. “I think she just got smote?”

 

The dwarf’s eyebrows rose into his hairline. “You're kidding.”

 

“Well, at least we know what to do with you now,” Alistair said brightly, clapping Cinna on the back. She winced again and elbowed him in the side. “Right, sorry.”

 

Cinna ran a hand through her hair and groaned. “Just let me sit down before I throw up on you again.”

 

“A mage,” he said brightly. “You might be able to fight in the battle after all.”

 

_ “Oh,”  _ she swallowed, a chill going up her spine.  _ “Joy.” _

 

She should have run when she had the chance.

 


	5. Friendship Is Blood Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author says 'fuck it, why not?' and deviates from canon because fuck it, why not

 

Wynne was having a very hard time teaching her the principles of magic while she had a hand literally inside someone.

 

“I-it's not quite something I can teach you overnight,” she said, up to her elbow in intestines. Thankfully, her hands glowed so Cinna could identify where the woman’s fingers ended and the gore began. “Could you… maybe come back a bit later?”

 

“Ssssure, yeah, you look-”. The man let out a deep groan, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. “-a bit busy.”

 

Alistair and Duran were easy to find, they were back in the training field looking like they actually knew what they were doing.

 

Duran had swapped his maul for a sword and the two were trading blows. Slowly, since they were only practicing, but it was interesting to see what real swordplay actually looked like.

 

Alistair used his extra reach to his advantage, keeping Duran on the defensive as they sparred. The dwarf was probably a lot more used to a much heavier weapon, so his swings were quicker than he expected. It made things interesting- Alistair had trouble predicting his moves, and Duran was constantly having to swing upwards. They went on for a while, and Cinna settled herself onto the nearby bench and rested her head on her hand.

 

“We have an admirer,” grunted Duran, shooting her a quick smile before he ducked and rolled away from a blow meant to stagger.

 

“We—What?” Alistair turned his head, but that was where Duran had him made. He swept his foot out from under him, yanking on Alistair’s collar to fully knock the wind out of him.

 

Cinna was on her feet. “Dude!!”

 

“Oh, maker…” Alistair wheezed, squeezing his eyes closed as she approached. “Tell me that wasn't as embarrassing as I thought it was.”

 

“That was awesome.” She clapped he dwarf on the shoulder and grinned at him. “Can you do it again?”

 

“Oh, okay, I see. Do it again Duran, you're so dreamy, make it extra painful for slow old Al, he can take it.” He was still on the ground, pressing his hand to his chest. It was the second time in as many days that he had the wind knocked out of him.

 

“Sorry.” Duran helped him to his feet and at least had enough decency to look apologetic. “You surface dwellers are so squishy.”

 

Alistair brushed himself off and let out a huff. “I guess it comes with the lifestyle. What, is everyone back home made of rocks?”

 

“Just the fun ones,” he winked at him, and Alistair scoffed.

 

"Anyway, what are you doing back? or did you just miss us that much," said the ex-Templar, looking down at Cinna. He leaned over and ruffled her hair, and she knocked his hand back- but not before he had thoroughly ruined her look. He laughed at her expression. "Oh no, have I upset you? I wonder how that feels."

 

"Look out, she might turn you into a frog if you aren't careful," Duran warned, also laughing.

 

Cinna shook the hair out of her face and glared at them both. "You know, if I knew how to I would! You two are the worst."

 

“I just don't understand how someone can go all their life and not know that they can use magic.” Alistair shook his head, thinking to himself. "You've never had a moment where something happened? Your emotions got the better of you, you lose control- anything?”

 

Well, there was that moment in the woods with that Genlock.

 

Cinna paused. "I mean... I dunno?"

 

Duran raised an eyebrow at her. "And that never set off any alarm bells? If I suddenly started shooting rainbows out of my ass, I'd think I'd know."

 

"Well, if I start shooting rainbows out of my ass I know just who to turn to," she said flatly. Alistair giggled, and she frowned at him. "What? It's not that easy. I'd like to see you try doing magic after not knowing how to do it all your life. I just have one moment to go off of."

 

"I never said it was easy! just... never mind..." he coughed into his hand awkwardly. "Regardless, why don't you try focusing on that moment? Try to relive the emotions or something. I'm no Mage but that sounds like the best place to start. Wait until we’re at least, like, fifty feet away first.”

 

She watched as Alistair took five long strides away and all but hid behind Duran before he gestured for her to start. What a chicken.

 

“Weren't you a Templar? Aren't you the most equipped to do something if I mess up?”

 

“That just means I know what you might be capable of. Besides, we can train over here while you're.... doing whatever it is you're supposed to be doing.”

 

"....Thanks."

 

"Good luck!" shouted Duran, before he took out his sword and started sparring again. Part of her hoped he tripped up Alistair again for being such a shitty teacher.

 

Her shoulders slumped, and she sat down on the grass. Okay, how was she supposed to do this? She looked down at her hands, wondering what it was about her that was magical. Obviously, she'd never done anything fantastic in her world, no matter how hard her child-self had wanted to use the force.

 

Clang! Alistair and Duran clash swords, and she looked over at them and watched, silently. god, that was so fucking cool. why couldn't she swing a sword? being a knight was awesome. if only she wasn't limited by her weak, out of shape body, or hatred of physical activity, or horrible hand-eye coordination, or everything else that made her a horrible choice for a warrior. if only she didn't have those things, she could be awesome too.

 

Instead, she was stuck looking at her hands on the ground wondering what the hell she was supposed to do. If Alistair thought she could go into the battle like this, she was doomed. She was doomed having to live in this world, to begin with, but as a mage? and not even a good mage, but a shitty mage? She'd be turned tranquil in a second. and that was if she wasn't cut down by a Templar, or a darkspawn, or by accidentally falling on a nearby blade.

 

....maybe it was a good thing they didn't give her a sword.

 

"Focus..." She closed her eyes and thought back to that moment in the woods, with the Genlock.

 

She had been scared, obviously. It shot her in the goddamn shoulder, and took out a twisty looking dagger that had to be ornamental because who the hell uses a blade with curves in it? but... anyway, the darkspawn looked threatening, which had been enough to scare her shitless. maybe she was also a bit angry. Confused, too, because who even does stuff like that?

 

She rubbed her hands together and waited for something magical to happen. and it... did not.

 

She sat like that for a while. A long while. Rubbing her hands and squeezing her eyes together, uselessly.

 

"How's it going?"

 

She cracked an eye open and looked up at Alistair. She could smell him and Duran from a  mile away- how long had she been trying to focus? they were practically dripping sweat all over her. Gross.

 

Cinna held up her empty hands and waited for the praise to come rolling in. "Can't you see? I've mastered the fireball."

 

They shared a glance. Duran reached out and touched her hand. "That's... really great work. at least you've got the warm part right?"

 

"Is it?" Alistair reached out and poked her hand as well. His face screwed up and he frowned. "Are you sure you weren't trying to cast a water spell? They're pretty clammy."

 

Cinna snatched her hands back and glared at them. "if that's the case then you must be masters. Go take your sweat somewhere else!"

 

"Hey, she's right." Duran shook his head like a dog and laughed when she cried out and fell backward, failing to miss the spray of sweat. "I'm the first dwarven mage in all of existence."

 

"You're disgusting!" she cried out again when Alistair leaned forward and wiped his sweaty hand across her forehead. "When I find out how to turn you into frogs you'll both be sorry!!"

 

Alistair scoffed and turned to Duran. "Wanna hop down to the river before lunch?"

 

He nodded and they started picking up their gear. Cinna watched them in dismay. "What am I supposed to do while you're gone?"

 

"Think... mage-ey things...?" shrugged the dwarf, before he and Alistair left her to her own devices.

 

Okay, fuck them then. She could do this on her own. She was strong and capable. She could be independent. it wasn't like she had been hoping they'd just carry her the whole way through the battle and forget she had to pull her own weight.

 

"Aaarrgghhhh..." Cinna let herself fall back onto the grass and groaned. she clenched and unclenched her hands, palms up to the sky.

 

God, she was useless on her own. maybe Wynne was done with her spirit-healing by now...? maybe if she just gave up she could get some lunch before all the food was gone. Maybe Kara and Catori were around to bug. Did elves know more about magic than Templars and dwarves? was that racist? At least they'd be less likely to wipe sweat on her and mess up her hair. stupid Alistair. Stupid Ferelden. Stupid darkspawn and magic and—

 

"...are you okay?

 

Cinna abruptly sat up and quit her whining. Across from her stood a young man with dark hair and apprentice robes, shooting her a rather concerned expression. Yikes, how embarrassing.

 

"I'm.... fine." She ran a hand through her messy hair and picked out a piece of grass lodged in it. She looked up at him. "You know how it is."

 

"I don't...? Are you in some sort of pain?" The mage glanced around for help, but they were pretty much alone. That didn't really bode well for her since she didn't trust strange men alone in the woods on principle. "Do you want me to get someone?"

 

"No! no, I'm quite fine on my own," she said quickly. He didn't seem quite convinced, and she groaned. "I'm just trying to... figure out how to do magic, is all. I'm pretty pathetic at it actually..."

 

"Oh, is that all?" he visibly brightened, and he knelt down on the grown next to her. "We have something in common then. I could show you a few pointers if you'd like?"

 

Maybe this guy wasn't so bad? anything not to be killed immediately by a Genlock. "That sounds great? thank you."

 

He offered his hand to shake and she noted that it was bandaged around the palm. Gently, she took it. He smiled. "I'm just an apprentice so I might not be much help, but it's worth a shot, right? My name is Jowan."

 

"Ah."  She froze halfway through shaking.

 

Fuck.

 

"I'm... happy... to meet you... too... Jowan..." She choked out, because fuck. Fuck, this guy, Jesus Christ. Maybe she wasn't the worlds biggest fuck up in camp after all. "What are you... um... doing here with the Grey Wardens, if I can I, uh, ask? Aren't apprentices meant to stay in the circle until they're full mages?"

 

"First enchanter Irving leant me to the Templars to help during the battle," he said simply, and with great pride for some reason. Sending a guy like him to fight the darkspawn was like leading a lamb to the slaughter, what was Irving thinking? "It's also a way for me to prove to the enchanter of my skills, and... make up for some things in the recent past."

 

Ah, okay, so Irving really had sent him off to his death for being a dumbass, but he had done it nicely, meaning Jowan had absolutely no idea he was supposed to die in the battle.

 

Cool. Nice to know he was still an old jackass in this world.

 

"So, the principles of magic are..."

 

He sat across from her and dictated a bunch of nonsense to her for about half an hour, going over everything he remembered from the circle and weighing in on what he felt was the most complicated and what he actually could manage. surprisingly, he knew more about magic than she first thought- more than she knew, honestly. He summoned a small ice crystal into his hand and smiled, proud of himself despite how puny it was. At least it was irrefutable proof he could do magic.

 

Cinna had no such luck.

 

"I think I did a spell once???" Jowan was currently turning her hands over in his and grimacing like they were some sort of math equation. They had just spent forty-five minutes trying to visualize a fireball, with no luck. Her hands weren’t even warm anymore; she was starting to get desperate. "...I still feel like it was a freak lightning strike."

 

"That's.... possible...." For a blood mage, he really wasn't that all intimidating. He seemed like he was holding himself back from suggesting that maybe they should go a different route since all Cinna seemed to be able to do was summon an incredible waste of time. "You're sure you can use magic?"

 

"I don't know what to tell you, buddy." She leaned back onto the grass and looked up at the sky. "I got smote a little while ago. Smited? besides magic, I really can't do anything else. And they want me to fight in the upcoming battle soon."

 

He looked horrified. "Oh Maker, you'll be eaten alive."

 

"That's what Alistair said! and he still wants me to fight!" She threw her hands up in the air. "Running away is punishable by death, right? no matter what I do I'm going to die. There's no winning."

 

Jowan pursed his lips and looked down at his hands. "Well, maybe there's a way..."

 

And that's all it took for him to reveal he was a blood mage, huh? some self-loathing and doom and that's it, hmm? At least he was fast and foolish.

 

She watched him unbandage his hand and winced at the long cut along his palm. It looked fresh, and he squeezed it shut painfully as she watched him. "Shit—dude, you know slashing your palm like that can do nerve damage?"

 

"Does it?" He looked worried. Jesus, did they teach him nothing in the circle? He laughed nervously as if reading her mind. "I might've missed that lesson."

 

She looked at him and then his hand, and then back at Jowan, waiting for him to get on with it. But honestly, someone could come walking by at any moment, and blood magic was kind of not something she wanted to be associated with, so early on in her Grey Warden career. If she could even call it that. "Okay, pretending I have no idea what blood magic is, what do you actually do to make the magic part work?"

 

He flushed, embarrassed and maybe a little shocked she was so cool with this and kept his hand clenched. "You're not going to run and go tell the Templars?"

 

"I'm an apostate, I guess, and they're assholes, so no." She couldn't exactly trust him not to do something stupid, like kill her for running away screaming—she'd rather actually learn something from this if she could. Cinna watched as his hand dripped a bit of scarlet into the grass. "What's the difference between blood magic and other magic?"

 

"Okay, first off, keep your voice down."

 

He looked nervously around the empty clearing and scooched a little bit closer, so they looked like they were having an intimate conversation instead of committing a sin against man and magic alike. They were absolutely alone, despite a couple of birds nearby, so there really wasn't a reason for him to be that paranoid. They were both being sent to their death in the upcoming battle anyway.

 

He opened his palm and held it out between them so she could see... whatever it was he was going to do. "So?"

 

"So, just wait a second. " He screwed his eyes shut and concentrated for a moment, and she leaned back as something in his hand seemed to glow. His hand shaking, Jowan reached some sort of calm as it washed over him, and he turned his hand as a small pearl of blood floated in his hand. He opened his eyes and marveled at it—it was definitely much more impressive than his pathetic little ice crystal. "That's not the only thing I can do. There's more—there's power in blood, you know?"

 

"But there's a price," she surmised. He reluctantly nodded, and she sighed. "Fine, okay, whatever. It's not like I'm having much better results with normal magic."

 

Idly, she wondered how easy it was for her to immediately give up and turn to the dark arts when she really hadn't even tried that hard, but Cinna was tired. And hungry. Alistair and Duran probably didn't save her any food so really it was their fault she turned to blood magic.

 

"Okay, what do I need to do?"

 

Jowan pulled out a fucking knife out of his pocket and she immediately regretted asking.

 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down, I'm not slashing my palm like you. Are you crazy?"

 

"You kinda need blood to use blood magic," he said impatiently. He handed her the knife with his un-bloodied hand, and she weighed it in her palm, nervously. "You wanted to learn, right?"

 

"I did say that... didn't I?" Fuck, fuck- she was such a chicken, this was too much. This was almost as bad as the joining, except she was doing this willingly with the threat of death hanging over her head, instead of actually dying at that moment.

 

Maybe if she just pricked her finger a little bit it'd be enough? And she didn't have to sell her soul to the practice anyway. Cinna didn't even think it'd work in the first place—it was just to see if she could actually do magic at all.

 

"Okay, fine." She drew the tip of the knife atop the top of her pinky finger, just hard enough to tear the skin a little bit, and winced. Her heart was in her throat as she did so—she didn't want her hand to slip and accidentally fuck everything up. She wasn't lying about that nerve damage thing.

 

A tiny bead of blood welled up on her finger. She looked up and saw Jowan, who watched her expectantly.

 

"How do you feel?"

 

"Stressed." Cinna swallowed a lump in her throat and squeezed her pinky, drawing out more blood. She grimaced. "...now what?"

 

"Focus on your emotions—that's the key. Hone in on whatever it was that first made you do magic, and expand. Think of the blood as a vessel; its energy, the same way lyrium works, but it comes from you."

 

She thought back to the clearing. The fear, the panic. She was anxious about screwing up, but not in the same mindset as before. When she thought about the future, though—of the battle, of everyone dying... when she thought about her family members, possibly in that forest, looking for her.... what if they had been caught by the horde? what if they were already dead? what if—what if—

 

"There you go! that's a start."

 

The tiny bead of blood was floating off her finger about an inch. It felt weird. Absolutely alien, in fact, but she felt like she could control it. In theory. There was a strange warmth to it as it hovered above her skin, and after a moment of floundering, not knowing what to do, she found that she could roll it over a bit and onto her other hand.

 

"That's.... so weird!" She was smiling, though, because a day ago she hadn't even dreamt of this being possible. Jowan was smiling too, and they looked at each other like idiots as she moved the little pearl of blood over her hand and between her fingers.

 

"Congratulations," said Jowan, with pride. "You're now officially a dangerous, horrifying blood mage."

 

Cinna spluttered and let the bead drop to the grass. “I mean… I guess I am?”

 

It wasn't much. She couldn't use it in battle the save her life, it wasn't something she could show anyone, or feel proud about, other than by herself.

 

But it was a confirmation that she had potential, that maybe a little part of her belonged in this world.

 

Maybe she’d be okay after all.

  
  
  



	6. The Puppy King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cinna has a harem of one and absolutely nobody is invited

They were still sitting together in the field, knees touching and whispering to one another when Alistair and Duran found them. The dwarf had a sweet roll in his hands and Alistair had something on his face that looked like icing. The two warriors were talking animatedly amongst themselves but stopped the moment they saw that Cinna wasn't actually alone. And they... were sitting awfully close to one another.

 

"What's this?" Alistair asked loudly. "Care to introduce your pal?"

 

Cinna and Jowan jumped at the sound and immediately paled. She looked down at Jowan's bloody hand and thought fast. It was obvious he was a mage. If they saw blood, their minds would automatically go to blood mage, and she kinda wanted Jowan to live after he had just kindly indoctrinated her into the dark art. She wanted to learn more. She also kind of liked him as a person and didn't think he deserved being executed.

 

"This... is Jowan," she said awkwardly, pulling the mage up with his hand. He winced at the pressure but surprised him when she didn't let go, even after they stood up. "And you're right, we're friends."

 

Duran raised an eyebrow at them. "Looks like more than that to me. Why... are you holding hands?"

 

"we—uh— _ we're dating _ ," she said quickly. Jowan choked and started coughing. She stepped on his foot and hoped that neither warrior saw. "Yeah. It's cool. We're cool. We should probably get going soooo..."

 

"Hold up." Alistair blocked her path and kept her from dragging Jowan to safety. He looked down at her, frowning disapprovingly. What was he, her dad? "You seriously think we're going to believe that?"

 

"Yes. Now move." She didn't leave any room for debate. Unfortunately, Alistair still blocked their path. She wanted to at least get him away from the ex-Templar just in case he started screaming blood magic. Could he sense they had been up to something? Could he smell blood magic in her breath? Cinna started breaking out in a cold sweat. "We're supposed to go down and get some food- we were too busy, uh, connecting emotionally, to get anything."

 

"Here." Duran passed her the sweet roll. "We were going to bring more, but Alistair... got hungry."

 

"I see." Cinna narrowed her eyes.

 

"Maybe we should just be honest—" Jowan wiggled his fingers and made a move to let go— which would have been a  stupid move, so she squeezed her hand harder and he winced.

 

"Here, darling, you should eat." She kept her eyes glued on Duran and Alistair as she stuffed the roll into Jowan's mouth. The mage sputtered and caught the bread before it fell.

 

"Maker, that's..." Alistair glanced at Duran. "...so beautiful? am I supposed to say I'm happy for you? Cinna, is someone making you do this?"

 

Jowan made a whining noise and she yanked on his arm.

 

"No, nobody's making us do this, why, why would you think that? did someone say we look like we're not dating? because we are. We're in love. Jesus Christ, Alistair, why are you so fucking judgemental?"

 

He quickly put both hands up in surrender and let them pass. "Hey, don't say I ever stood in front of true love! by all means, go ahead!"

 

"Thank you." She urged Jowan to start walking and left the two wardens behind her, staring at their retreating forms in deep confusion.

 

"Someone should tell her that Wardens aren't allowed to fool around with people outside the order."

 

Duran looked at him sharply. "Did you actually think she was being serious?"

 

"I dunno." Alistair wiped a bit of icing off the side of his face and licked his hand. "...I mean, did you?"

 

When Cinna was done dragging Jowan to safety and back to the mage's quarters where he belonged, she deeply considered giving him a stern talking to about trusting strangers and blood magic. It was lucky he had run into her and not someone else. Someone stupid, who listened to the chantry and believed in the maker and condemned blood magic for what it was. But... was it really all that bad? The very fact that she could do magic, even a tiny amount was something she hadn't even dreamed possible. Its existence was a miracle to her—all of it. So she felt at odds with herself to judge one form over another. She already knew from the other games that it was the intention that made the whole difference. Merrill was proof of that. So why couldn't blood magic be a good thing?

 

"Okay, so, you don't tell anyone what we just did, and it'll be fine," she said tentatively, releasing the poor mage's hand as they neared the mage's tents. People bustled around them in preparation for the upcoming battle, so they really didn't have much privacy to talk. But she felt like telling Jowan to keep his mouth shut was kind of important. "Got it?"

 

"You're talking about the—" he pointed to his bloodied injured hand to emphasis, and she narrowed her eyes. "you know—instead of the, uh, fake dating part, right?"

 

"We're definitely  _ not _ dating." She'd much rather eat her own boots than even consider it. He was old enough to grow a beard and yet dumb enough not to know how to have safe sex, she wouldn't touch that with a ten foot pole even if it would save her life. "but... uh... if anyone gets suspicious, tell them that we  _ are _ , and that I gave you that hand wound."

 

"How does that make any more sense than—" he shut his mouth when she made a zipping motion with her mouth.

 

"Call it foreplay, I don't fucking know. I'm  _ nineteen _ , you figure it out." She rubbed her temples, but it didn't help. She wasn't sure if she had a headache incoming or if that was just Jowan's effect on people who knew what he was capable of. "Anyway, get that hand treated, and please, figure out a safer way of doing magic. You're going to lose sensation in your fingers if you keep slashing at it."

 

"Maybe you're right..." He looked down at his palm and paused for a moment. he looked up at her, clenching and unclenching his hand. "Um."

 

He was wasting time, they probably should have parted ways by now. She frowned at him. "What?"

 

He held up his hand, still red and sticky with old blood, but across his palm where she expected a still-bleeding wound, a line of scab and scar tissue had already built up. Which was impossible, because a cut like that would have at least taken days to heal like that, and she had literally just dragged him across the camp with that hand.

 

Unless.... she did that?

 

"Maaagic is so weirdddd..." She still wasn't sure if she was even capable of it, but.... well, there was some more proof for her to stew over for that night, and she grabbed the bandage hanging around Jowan's wrist and hastily wrapped it around the now-healing cut. "Go get it fixed by a healer anyway. It could still get infected."

 

He nodded and looked down at her hopefully. "We can talk again later, right?"

 

"Riiight." If he didn't die during the battle, and she didn't die, and they were actually able to talk again, sure. She nodded at him, because why the hell not, Jowan was actually pretty cool, even if he was a bit of a dumbass; so was she quite a lot of the time. "I'll see you around."

 

They nodded to one another and she quickly fled the mage's quarters, probably looking quite suspicious to the nearby Templars, but fuck it. She was allowed to walk around. What would they do, smite her? Hah.

 

(She really hoped they wouldn't... not again.)

 

Cinna found Duncan two hours later after she had wandered around the battlements. She had scaled one of the big stone walls and sat on top of one of the broken pillars, after having spent most of her free time trying to get free food from the kitchens. It had been a bit of a bust, even though she played into her shoulder injury, but the chef was a bit of a bastard. Suppertime was another hour, so she was stuck starving. she did consider trying to convince a guard to give her some food, but then she remembered the starving prisoner in jail and ended up wasting all her time trying to get him a fucking glass of water and some toast.

 

He was grateful, even though someone had already given him some food? (Duran, probably) but he took the bread anyway, and she left him not knowing if she did a good thing or if it was completely unnecessary. Like, he was still in jail, he was still going to be executed, so did it  _ really _ matter?

 

She was considering her options as she sat on that stone pillar when Duncan found her. From her spot, she could see him coming, and he could quite easily see her.

 

...How mad would he be if she hypothetically asked him for the keys to release the prisoners?

 

"Hello up here!" Duncan raised a hand to shield his eyes from the setting sun. The light cast an orange wash over the whole camp, and his shadow stretched far down the side of the wall, down the cliff and into the valley below. She wondered if any darkspawn could see them all the way down there. "Sitting comfortably, I hope?"

 

"Not really." There was a stone digging into her back and she still hadn't eaten anything all day. "What's up?"

 

She realized that maybe she shouldn't be speaking so casually to the Warden  _ commander _ , now that he was her boss, but it was too late to go back in time and un-shoot herself in the foot.

 

Thankfully, Duncan was a cool old dude with a sense of humor. "Well, from where I'm standing, it'd be _ you. _ "

 

"...I can come down."

 

He chuckled. "That would be appreciated."

 

The way down wasn't too bad. She had to hook her foot into a big crevice, where the pillar had split, and then swing herself down with her good arm. She was nearly down by the time she heard footsteps approaching, and when she stumbled and nearly fell on her face Duncan caught her.

 

Once again she was caught her by her bad shoulder, but she wasn't about to start cursing in front of her boss. " _ Owch—! _ "

 

Duncan let her go and watched worriedly as she held her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

 

"Yeah, I..." Cinna looked up as the sound of footsteps got closer, and two arguing voices carried over the battlements.

 

"It's just not realistic! Think of your soldiers, what are they going to be thinking when they're fighting in a bottleneck?" She knew that voice, and the face it was attached to as Loghain approached. Cailan was ahead of him, looking like he wished he could push Loghain off the battlements to get a good few seconds of peace, but the king held his resolve. Loghain persisted. "This is a fool's errand!"

 

Cailan spotted them from a ways off, and he started walking after. "Duncan! Just the person I wanted to see."

 

_ (Oh god not them, of the hundreds of people in this camp—) _

 

Cinna's heart was in her throat and she took a large step backward as the king approached, more or less putting Duncan between herself and the man so she wouldn't be in the spotlight. She all but literally clung to the wall, hoping she could disappear as Loghain caught up to them. Thankfully, he barely spared her a single glance.

 

"I'm still here, your majesty, I'm not going to _ run away  _ because you found the Warden commander," he said, frowning heavily.

 

Cinna choked on her breath and immediately started coughing. Her face was flaming red by the time Duncan stepped over and gave her a pat on the back, and by then both men had fucking noticed her presence and  _ she was screwed beyond belief. _

 

"I see you're not alone, Duncan! who's this?" King Cailan was looking at her rather expectantly, and she wanted to shrink in on herself and die. He was so horribly, horribly young. She could see the resemblance between him and Alistair, but she couldn't trust her voice not to break as she addressed the _ doomed _ puppy king of Ferelden.

 

"Serah Cinna Starosta, she's the other Grey Warden recruit I told you about," said Duncan evenly. And oh god, Duncan had talked about her? to him? with Loghain present? did Loghain know her name? oh fuck they all knew her name, they all knew who she was, Jesus Christ they were all looking at her and expecting her to say something.

 

"I-It's, uuh, a pleasure." She curtsied. Fucking _ curtsied _ , to them both. What was she? some, some sort of lady in waiting? some kind of goddamn fool? a mcfucking clown?

 

Cailan at least looked amused. Loghain just.... she didn't want to look at Loghain. Maybe If she focused hard enough she could cut him out of the universe and paste him into another one altogether. As far as she was concerned, she was on a whole other ancestral plane than him.

 

_ (Please don’t look at me please don’t look at me oh god...) _

 

"I'm glad you're feeling better, then. I heard from the other Wardens that you had a rather nasty run-in with some darkspawn," Cailan smiled. At her. Genuinely. She wanted to combust on the spot.

 

What was it about the men in this game being terrifyingly younger than she expected? She couldn't trust herself not to say anything else, for fear of melting into a puddle in front of him. It wasn't because he was cute or anything. Sure, he had a pleasing sort of face to look at, and his voice.... was nice. But he was a  _ flaming dumpster fire _ and, like Jowan, she wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot pole even if he promised her all the jewels in the world. She wasn't that  _ stupid. _

 

_ (Wait, why had her mind immediately gone to dating? Jesus Christ, he just smiled at her! Cinna wanted To Die) _

 

"Cailan, we don't have time for pleasantries," Loghain gave her a short and quick head-nod. It was as clear a dismissal ever, and she couldn't believe she was actually so supremely fucking grateful towards the man. "We need to rethink our strategy."

 

"Uncle, we've gone over the plan so many times I can see them when I close my eyes," Cailan whined. He was like a schoolboy being lectured by his teacher, completely unaware that said teacher was planning on cold-blooded regicide. "If we want a fighting chance, changing our plans last minute won't solve anything. Then plan will work, have faith."

 

Cinna held her breath and desperately tried not to cough anymore. Duncan eyed her warily.

 

Loghain all but chewed the king's ear off with more technical speak and planning, and Cailan was left floundering. He turned to them. "I'm sorry to have to steal you away Duncan, but could you join us in the strategy tent? I doubt I can stand fighting on my own like this."

 

"It's no problem, your majesty. I'd be happy to assist where I can." Duncan nodded and, turning to her, gave her shoulder another once-over. "I meant to speak with you, Cinna, but I'm sure it can be handled tomorrow. I do hope that shoulder of yours doesn't cause any trouble for you. I'm surprised it hasn't healed yet—speak to some of the physicians, they should have something to take care of the pain."

 

"If worst comes to worst, she can always stay by us during the battle," smiled Cailan, who, damn him to hell and back, said so quite smoothly. She could almost hear the wink in his voice and she froze to the spot.

 

_ That was why _ . That was why her mind went to dating—despite his puppyish looks, she remembered him sleeping around with other women than his wife.  Somehow the prospect of the king of Ferelden being anything more than friendly scared her worse than the darkspawn. Why couldn't the blight have killed her on the spot instead of dealing with this?

 

"With the warden commander, a king and the hero of Ferelden, I doubt the darkspawn will even reach us before the battle's over. It'll be quite boring for a first battle, but there's always next time I'm sure. You’ll be safe, I highly recommend it. In fact,  _ I insist. _ "

 

She wanted to laugh. Instead, she paled and inclined her head. Her hands shook by her sides, and she wished she had her big puffy jacket so she could stuff her hands into her pockets. "That's... very kind of you, your majesty. Thank you..."

 

(She was so screwed. Cailan had signed her death warrant. Could she say no to the king and ask to go with Alistair and Duran instead?  _ No? Oh god. Oh Jesus. _ )

 

Loghain looked like he wanted to interject—he definitely wouldn't be joining Cailan in the battle alongside him, but maybe it was another one of those fake strategy things he kept going on about, before the whole regicide and running away thing. "Enough of this. Cailan, let's go."

 

He all but pulled Cailan away from them and stalked back in the direction they came from. Cailan gave them a quick wave goodbye, and Cinna was left watching Duncan follow after them, her hand slightly raised in a wave back. 

 

It was then she realized how badly she wished she could do something about the result of Ostagar. To change it, for the better… because if she didn’t, she’d be just as dead as the king and the warden commander.

 

She just wasn’t sure how to go about it yet.

 

Foresight was a bitch, wasn’t it?

 

(The night of the battle, as everyone slept deeply in preparation for the fight, every single prison door was unlocked and swung right open. They never found out who did it.)

  
  
  



	7. The Last First Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cinna's bad times start to pale in comparison to this particular very awful, no good, really bad time.

 The next morning Cinna found herself dressed in grey warden blues. She struggled with the belts and clasps on her own, and the armor pinched her bandages, but the healing salve the physicians had given her had done some good work over the night. Kara had helped her in the end when she couldn't reach around and grab all the little clasps. It wasn't that hard, but she had never worn armor before so she was pretty freaked out trying it on for the first time.

 

"There," said the pretty brown elf, standing back to get a good look at her. On the other side of their shared tent, Catori gave her an appraising nod. Kara put her hands on her hips and gave her a final nod. "You don't look half bad."

 

"For a shem," Catori said, and Cinna stuck her tongue out at her. She laughed. "She's right though, you look almost half decent."

 

"Stop, you're going to make me blush."

 

Cinna rolled her eyes at the two and ran her good hand through her hair. It wasn't doing so good anymore. Not that her hair had any magical qualities to begin with--it basically just sat limp on her head and did her no favors. Which was why she dyed it blonde, to at least look nice, but the longer she went without shampoo the darker and dirtier it looked. More wispy silver-blonde than a healthy yellow, like her mom and sister had. Instead she had her dad’s dark blackish brown roots, and they were starting to show… _ugh_.

 

"Quit fussing and just braid it," muttered Catori. "Don't you have practice in a little while?"

 

"I do, but—ugh..." She fumbled with separating her hair into the right portions with one hand before Kara stopped her and just took over before she embarrassed herself. Now she was actually blushing, fiddling with the warden’s oath hanging from her neck. "Uuuhhh.... t-thank you..."

 

"Don't worry about it, mouse." The older woman flicked her cheek and started expertly braiding back her hair so it wouldn't go flying all over the place while she trained with Duncan. "Can't have you flying blind and fixing your hair while the rest of us are carrying your dead weight."

 

"Oh, that’s why? _Gee, thanks_...."

 

Cinna felt the back of her head when she was done and found that Kara had done a very complicated sort of Dutch braid, but slightly different. She let a couple strands of hair fall forward to frame her face, and Cinna turned her head back and forth to admire the woman's work. It felt… nice. Solid. Like it wouldn't come undone, and she had no idea how. As she left, Cinna came to the solemn conclusion that she'd never in a million years know how to replicate it again, and decided to enjoy the new style while she could before it inevitably got ruined.

 

Training with Duncan was strange. It wasn't like with Alistair (though he had barely done anything, to begin with) and with Jowan (who had barely gotten her to do anything either) but it was challenging in its own ways. Duncan knew what he was doing, while the other two... just didn't. She had been nervous at first about wasting the commanders time when he could have been planning out a strategy to not get them all killed, but he was patient and understanding and actually worked _around_ her shoulder injury instead of against it.

 

"Fighting hand to hand will never be your strength and brute force is only going to slow you down. What's important is that you learn to keep your enemies at a distance, and keep them on their toes."

 

They were training with wooden poles, he let her favor her left for the time being, and made sure to push her when she got too comfortable. He never seemed too busy--actually, she got the impression that training with her was less tiring than any of his other duties combined. For the first time since she landed in Thedas, with Duncan teaching her, Cinna felt like she could _actually do something._

 

"Keep focused, remember to try and predict your enemies movements before they lunge. A staff will only do you good if you keep your adversary at the end of it."

 

Training was hard, but it was manageable. They broke at noon and Duncan was called again back to the strategy tent as tensions flared up. He was playing the mediator between Cailan's unstoppable idealism and Loghain's immovable stubbornness. She pitied him, but she also would never jump in to save him in a million years. The egos between those two were enough to make mountains crumble, and she wanted no part in their fighting.

 

But she was already involved, so she had to do the best with what she could. Training her was a small break in routine for Duncan, and if it inconvenienced Loghain? All the better.

 

When she wasn't with Duncan in the mornings, she was going over magical theory with the mages. Wynne was there, occasionally, though she often had to leave and deal with Templars or heal people or whatever it was senior enchanters did. She had about as much luck with getting Cinna to do magic than Jowan did, and it was frustrating and embarrassing the whole time. She felt judged every time she walked out of the mage tents with no improvement in her magical skills, and Cinna spent her nights restlessly wondering if it’d be worth fighting in the battle with her training stick.

 

The only improvement she had at all with her magic was when she was alone in that training field.

 

Cinna still wasn't so desperate to go the lengths that Jowan had, but she re-pricked her finger and channeled the same feeling she had felt that day in the woods. Wynne's teaching only did so much, to be honest.

 

Cinna got the impression that she just wasn't cut out for standard magic. It might've had something to do with her not just being a part of the world--lyriaum didn’t work and only gave her a headache, basic magic exercises for kids didn't help. She felt like a giant _baby_. The only thing she had left was in her blood, and even then, the most she could actually get out of the art was a little control and useless floating droplets. She could at least sort of force the blood out of the pinprick in her pinkie now, and back into her finger after it turned white, good as new.

 

She didn't dare try anything larger than that. Not on her own, not without supervision. It just didn’t feel _safe._

 

It was a week and a half before their last stand. Though, nobody knew about it but her. It still didn't feel real, but no matter how much she dearly hoped to see her bedroom walls when she woke up, she opened her eyes to a flimsy tent flap and cursed the day she was born.

 

The forest was alive with activity. The stink of darkspawn and decay wafted up the battlements, clogging the air with a sickening miasma. Cailan's forces blocked off much of the valley to their advantage, while Logan ‘ _organized_ ’ his men into _‘position_ ’.

 

The idea was, archers up above would catch the first wave with their arrows and sent them into a frenzy as the darkspawn charged forward. Then, mabari would flank the sides as the horde started trying to squeeze their way into the much narrower part of Ostagar, like a bottleneck. Cailan's men were meant to pull back once a sufficient amount of darkspawn had put their full focus on them, and then Loghain would take his army around the back and catch them off guard.

 

The first problem they ran into was the darkspawn waited until night to make their move, and it was _fucking raining._

 

Not a good setup for the soldiers fighting on foot--now, in the mud. Nobody would be able to see for shit when the fighting actually happened, so the chantry sisters were frantically running around lighting lamps (which barely did anything). If the archers could see anything against the rain they might have had a chance, but it was pitch fucking black out, so that was barely an option. The mabari were stressed due to the tension the people were letting off, and the rain pelted the standing forces from all sides as they waited anxiously for their moment.

 

Cinna, for the most part, was quietly trying not to lose her shit as she stood by Duncan's side. They were in a safe position up on the battlements, a bit too far to actually get into the battle once it started, but everything hinged on this battle not going as planned, so she really didn't trust the relative safety of the ledge and was planning out her escape routes.

 

“For Ferelden!”

 

When it started, Cailan looked like he wanted to jump into the battle headfirst. He was like a kid in a candy store.. It was like a game---him, barking orders, making little speeches to make his soldiers feel better even though the entire battle was stacked so against their favor, they’d be fools not to see it. He spoke about _glory_ and and _honor_ and, completely wrapped up in his own little world. _King Cailan, the darkspawn destroyer_.

 

When the horde began to overwhelm his forces and ruin the fantasy he had been playing in his head, he looked crushed.

 

"That's... That's not supposed to happen."

 

 **_Boom!_ ** the darkspawn had brought artillery of their own. Great big flaming chunks of rock crashed into their blockades and crumbled a nearby tower. Cinna gripped her mage staff and wished she had been able to slip away in time to join Alistair and Duran up on the bridge.

 

“ _God fucking--_ ” She cupped her hands over her ears as another rock blasted a nearby wall, and she tried not to scream. “ _DAMNIT!!_ ”

 

Cailan had basically signed her death warrant, then, and all she could do was watch him pace nervously like a _jackass_ while his men _wasted their lives in a suicide run_.

 

 **_BOOM--!_ ** Another rock, perfectly aimed, smashed the top of their platform and forced them back. Cinna fell backwards onto her ass, scrambling away in time to miss most of the debris. She was on her feet as Duncan had grabbed Cailan (before he hurt himself) and they moved to a more secure location behind the walls, but it only lasted so soon.

 

They had more soldiers waiting in case the darkspawn breached their fences, but they hadn't counted on it happening so fast. With such an overwhelming force, they tore through the soldiers in the bottleneck and came from three different places at once. Instead of Cailan's men and the wardens doing the flanking, it was them who found themselves the victims. Cailan had drawn his sword and taken down an ambitious looking Genlock before Duncan could do anything, and before the warden commoner knew it, he was also on the defense.

 

And Cinna? she was screwed.

 

No, really, what was she supposed to do with barely two weeks training under her belt? the battle was overwhelming, she wasn't prepared for such horrific slaughter. The sound of soldiers screaming and darkspawn crying their awful war sounds was enough to make her mad, she could barely focus on one thing or another.

 

She knew it wasn't supposed to go like this. Duncan had wanted her to stay out of the battle, even with her shoulder mostly healed. She could swing a staff, and do some good damage with the pointed blade at the end, but she wasn't a fighter. Her heart wasn't in it. She didn't have the steel to actually fight, even it was for her life. She was just terrified- so fucking scared her knuckles were white and her eyes wide... She barely managed herself as they retreated, but she was slow, and she wasn't as quick as the other two. The darkspawn rushed between them, putting too much distance between them for her to get any help.

 

So it really wasn't at all surprising when she found herself overtaken by a particularly tall Hurlock, and it all but caved her head in with its club.

 

"Cinna!" Duncan turned at the wrong moment to watch her fall, crumpling to the ground like dead weight. A darkspawn took the opportunity and dug its pointed blade into a weak spot in his armor, and he cried out in pain before he broke them apart. The darkspawn fell a moment later, but he was deeply wounded.

 

"Is she dead?" Cailan held off the darkspawn as he and Duncan regrouped. A low croak spilled out of Cinna's mouth as Duncan checked to see if she was alive, and her eyes blearily opened a moment later, unseeing. Recognition barely passed in her eyes, but she was alive, for the moment. He dragged her backward as more of the horde broke through their lines and things looked grimmer than ever.

 

 _They fought like animals—_ there was no other way to describe it. The glorious battle that Cailan had dreamed of had been whittled down until they were fighting tooth and nail for their survival. The darkspawn didn't care if he was a king or just another meat sack in a suit of armor. They lunged and they snarled and they kept coming _and coming and coming_ , and there was _no end to it_ . The blight was at its full force, and the darkspawn had played their cards _right._

 

The rain soaked into Cinna's clothes as she struggled to get up. Nearby, someone cried out and fell to the ground, and she looked into their eyes as the darkspawn plunged their sword into them again and again _and again and—_

 

She saw her sisters' eyes reflected back at her and her heart turned to ice. She could feel the thump, _thump, thump,_ of approaching feet as red colored her vision and soaked her hair. The world was spinning around her, and she could barely bring herself up to a standing position before she fell, again, onto the ground.

 

Her hands fumbled for her staff but it was gone--knocked away by something or someone or other. She was useless with it anyway, her hands were white and shaking. She couldn't feel the rest of her body. Cinna forced her feet to move on pure muscle memory and tried to force the loose strands of her hair back but found her head slick with blood and dirt and that same slimy blackness. It didn't occur to her that the Hurlock had coated its club with the stuff until her head snapped up at the last second and she was there again, on her back in the woods, terrified and confused and about to die, and—

 

and Duncan had fallen onto the ground—

 

and Cailan was face to face with the ogre, tall and leering, ugly and monstrous. Its cry was like nothing she had ever heard before, and she _screamed_ and covered her ears with her hands as it s _creeched in the king's face and then_ **_crushed him_ ** _with a single fucking hand._

 

His armor bent like tissue paper. The snap of his spine was drowned out by the whistle of the wind as the ogre tossed his lifeless body at a pair of his own warriors, killing them instantly the same way it did the king.

 

Duncan moved the same time Cinna, did, but they did so in opposite directions. She obviously wasn't thinking straight if she could still move because she should have run for her fucking life, and not looked back--

 

_(What are you doing?!)_

 

But she was there at Cailan's side and her shaking hands hovered over the deep claw marks puncturing his stupid flashy armor, and the blood, _there was so much blood_ —

 

_She couldn't breathe—_

 

_Couldn't see straight—_

 

She didn't see Duncan take down the Ogre and barely had enough of her mind left to recognize him once he fell back towards them. He was covered from head to toe in viscera and slick blackness, he looked barely human, barely holding himself together. When he turned his empty eyes towards the beacon, the last of his spirit fell when he saw the fires lit and it sunk in what really happened.

 

"Loghain... _betrayed us?_ "

 

There was less than a single breath escaping Cailan's mouth when she saw it. She was positive she was imagining it, but she was on her feet and urging Duncan to get up and fucking move because if he could speak he could get up, couldn't he? _why wasn't he fucking moving?_

 

 _"MOVE!!!"_ She pushed him harder than he probably deserved but he was bleeding out. Hope had drained from him, and he held Cailan's limp hand in his own as he swayed dangerously.The last of his strength had gone into finding vengeance for the king, he had given all he could give.

 

"Cinna... I'm..... s-sorry for... putting you through this..." His eyes drifted towards the oncoming horde and his whole body shook like it was shutting down. _He was shutting down._

 

_“No, no no--”_

 

The darkspawn kept coming. There was nothing they could do about it—Cinna stood abruptly as a large armored Hurlock leaped at them. She wasn't thinking when she held out her hand, but there must've been something instinctual in it—something from her lessons with Jowan and Wynne and even Duncan.

 

The Hurlock shuddered in spot, dropping its axe in shock as it froze mid-step. She didn't have enough time to think about it. Another one neared them, and she swung her hand out at that one too. The first once crashed into the other--it was magic, really, pure and unfettered magic, and all it had taken was a massive _bleeding head wound_ and the loss of _every single one of Cailan's men_.

 

She could feel their blood pooling into the ground around her as she stood. It was there. Jowan had been right. There was power in blood--more than she could ever realize, but it wasn't _her_ blood that was the key. It was them. She would never had been able to do anything if it weren't for the _hundreds and hundreds of bodies_ —

 

The dirt-blackened under her feet. The blood of the darkspawn was amongst what she summoned from the earth. Ugly, festering and cancerous. She couldn't control what was the blight and what was her own blood magic, but it _was_ enough to drive back the darkspawn.

 

Her eyes were wide as she took a step forward. She felt lighter somehow, exhilarated. The dizziness from her head wound was gone, and her hands no longer trembled. She had reclaimed the zen she had felt when she contracted the blight, but this time it was something stronger, more _powerful._ She didn't have time to think about it as she grasped Duncan and pulled him to his feet. It was painful--he cried out. Parts of him was missing and she was pretty sure he lost some fingers.

 

With a push, Cinna took her hand and _willed_ the blood to stop pouring out the gash in his side. He sucked a sharp breath between his teeth. She didn't like the way he looked at her, but he could stand, and it was a _goddamn fucking miracle_ and he could thank her and condemn her later when they were both alive and not skewered on a rack somewhere.

 

"Grab him!" she ordered, and she didn't have to ask again. Despite barely resembling anything living at all, Duncan slung the dead king's body over his shoulder.

 

The darkspawn had backed them into a wall, but getting past the riff-raff was easier when she could throw them out of the way at a moments notice. Once or twice they were pelted by arrows and that was when her almighty blood magic fuckery did them in. Two found their way into her arm and another into the meaty part of her thigh, but the pain had ended a long time ago and she could only summon a _supreme amount of outrage at them._

 

The archers crushed like tiny bugs as she closed her fist, and the blood they had spilled was their undoing. Spindly threads, almost vein-like in appearance, speared nearby attackers as they fled, bursting out of the fallen corpses on the ground. With what few people were still alive, they too were cut down, and their energy bled into the rest of what Cinna used against their killers.

 

It was a bloodbath, in every sense of the word. If the Maker had wept for them on that day, surely it had been streaked with marks of crimson, and Cinna was at the center of it. Washed in it. They fled into the open forest and she found herself baptized by the pouring rain, a burning, bright pyre of life amongst the ugly death around her.

 

They ran until their legs couldn't carry them anymore, and then they ran further. The light of the fading camp was a distant star by the time they finally fell, panting and broken but _breathing._

 

And for her last act, her energy fading the further the escaped the slaughter of Ostagar, Cinna turned to the crumpled body of Cailan and placed her hands over his chest and _willed his heart to stay beating._

 

And it did.

 

And then she promptly _passed the fuck out._

  



	8. Miracle Maker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cinna's puts her two brain cells together and does a little bit more magic that may or may not work

 

The darkspawn were too preoccupied in the pillaging of the camp to follow them, and when dawn broke columns of dark smoke licked the skies and tainted the clouds with ash and the scent of sulfur.

 

They had taken refuge in an abandoned barn and barred the doors. Duncan had fallen to his knees almost immediately, and Cinna was next. With three arrows in her she kept falling in and out of consciousness, but by some unknown strength, Duncan forced her back to her feet every time, and they dragged Cailan behind them.

 

With a painful snap, he had dislodged the arrow in her leg and worked on dislodging the other two from her left arm. One of them had gone clean through her bracer and out the other side, and she cried like a baby as he pulled the worst one out. She could feel the wrongness in her arm, how her tendons shrieked and pulled along with it, and she clutched the limb to her chest and kicked at the dirt with her feet when the other one came out. She had no concept of how long it took, but he was panting and clutching his side.

 

But he wasn't bleeding out. "W-what... what did you do... back there?"

 

It took her awhile to find the words she needed, her mind was like an animal, all it wanted to do was make a keening noise of pain and scream. "I-I'm sorry.. I didn't tell you before. I know, I know, I know I'm n-not supposed t-to, b-bb-ut I had to. You know I did, we were dying, they were all dying..."

 

She was blubbering, not making a lick of sense, but Duncan had already seen enough. He shook his head in a jerky motion. "No... no It's fine, I'm not... angry. You did what you had to."

 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm—" Cinna bowed her head, and she sobbed, openly. The massacre, the bodies...it was too much for her to handle. She wasn't the same person from the battle anymore, the adrenaline had numbed her, but it had slowed her down again and reality slapped her in the face. How many people had died?  _ how many people were dead? _

 

A soft rasping sound came from their right, and both heads snapped towards Cailan's body. They both crawled towards him, and Cinna's hands found the clasp in his armor.

 

"We-we need to g-get this off..." She wasn't really thinking as she moved, but Duncan probably did, and he was also removing what armor he could and the broken shattered pieces that still clung to the dead king.

 

But no, he wasn't dead, because he was still breathing, and there was the tiniest shred of something still alive inside him.

 

Her hands we shaking when they peeled back the armor and saw the puncture marks deep into his sides. His ribs pushed up against his skin at a sickening angle, and some of them dove deep down—he looked like a  _ crushed can. _ It was all she could think about as she put her hands over his wounds and tried to  _ will  _ the broken pieces of him back together.

 

They took turns tending to him as the sun rose. They knew they couldn't stay for long, had to stay ahead of the horde, but Duncan knew how the darkspawn worked and they moved with the terrain, taking higher elevation. The rocky cliffs were hard on them to pass, but in the days that they spent moving from one place to the other, they slowly found a pace and stuck with it. As time went on though, their injuries were starting to wear on them, and neither Cinna nor Duncan could go that long without eating. They finally took a risk and stopped by a stream, two days after the massacre.

 

"We can't keep going on like this." Duncan brought an unsteady hand to his mouth and drank. The water was chilling, but Cinna couldn't quite feel the cold anymore.

 

From her fingers, she dropped a few splashes of water into Cailan's mouth. His lips were purple and he kept spitting up blood. There was something internally wrong with him other than just the broken ribs and gashes, and while she had somehow stopped the bleeding like she had done with Duncan, he still hadn't woken up.

 

He had only made a sound on the first day, and it was hard to tell anymore if the sounds he made were labored raspy breaths or just air escaping his empty, dead, lungs. Duncan couldn't feel his pulse whenever he checked, but something in her could still feel a tiny spark, burning, and Duncan was too desperate to hold onto the king's body to give up hope. 

 

...but she knew he was thinking about burying him.

 

"You're not a miracle worker. The fact that you've gotten us here is more than enough." She wasn't listening to him. "Cinna."

 

"There's something  _ else _ ."

 

In his lungs, maybe. It wouldn't be out of the question for a piece of rib to fracture and puncture the--something? There had to be s _ omething.  _ She knew he was alive still. She could _ feel it. _

 

Duncan caught her arm before she could touch the king. Funny how a couple days ago her right arm was her bad one, and now it was all she pretty much had.

 

"I will not allow you to  _ defile _ his body—"

 

"I'm not defiling!" she snapped. "if he's still fucking alive, I can do something about it. What are you planning on doing other than letting go?"

 

That was harsh of her. Duncan knew she was grasping for straws, he could tell she was just making this up as she went along. "If he's gone, then what help will you be doing? if his soul is with the maker all you'll be doing is keeping a body alive that deserves peace. Don't you see that? there are reasons blood magic  _ cannot _ be allowed."

 

"If you don't trust me, _ fine. _ If I fuck up, you can do whatever you want—" she brought her hands up again to Cailan's chest. His ribs were so sharp, she could feel the fractures with her fingers alone, but with her magic? they were fragmented into a million pieces, and she had no idea where to start. "We both know the punishment for blood magic is death. If I do something and you don't like it, by all means, go right ahead, but I'm not  _ finished yet _ ."

 

Duncan was silent, but she could feel his eyes on her as she worked.

 

It was a strange thing, what she was doing. Cailan had been stripped down to a loose shirt and she unbuttoned it, his skin was mottled and purple, blooming a hue of ugly colors beneath the skin. He had internal bleeding in his stomach where one of the claws had punctured him, but she had cleared it up the day before and only the ugly remainders were left behind.

 

She ignored the black tinge to some of his wounds and worked around it. She knew Duncan had seen it as a lost cause, that he had the blight, but neither of them were in their right minds and they needed something to hold onto. A hope. Everything they knew had been lost in that battle, and they were slowly dying of hunger and infection.

 

Her hands floated over Cailan's chest where his lungs rested. She closed her eyes, visualizing the lethargic ebb and flow of his bloodstream. His system was shutting down, but something about it was slower, breaking down at a more sedate pace. If that was the case… was it on a cellular level--? If she foused, then maybe….

 

I her mind's eye she could see it all happen in slow motion as she and Duncan hovered above. Perhaps that was why Duncan couldn't feel a pulse, or why Cailan's breaths came so quickly and so far in between.Regardless, when she found the shards embedded in his lungs she had a bit of a eureka moment.

 

_ YES! It never felt so good not to be crazy.  _ Cinna took in a sharp breath and focused harder. 

 

There was a cluster of blood in a certain spot, like she had expected. It felt different than the rest (what little he had) and it was older. Like all the blood cells had collected there and died.

 

As she was, she wasn't capable of the same miracles as before. She couldn't just pull a bunch more blood magic tricks out of her ass, so she had to improvise. She could sense it better than she could before so she knew what to look for. When she palmed her hand over his chest and pulled, just slightly, on the dead collection of cells she visualized in her head, so that the momentum was pushing the broken rib piece back into place, and out of his lung.

 

The good part about having to go through high school biology was, she knew blood cells could pass through any capillary that they needed. After the rib had exited the lung, she pulled fresher blood from other parts of his body forward, so that little by little, the pressure built up and up and up until the piece of bone was back where it was meant to be. She could feel it still sotra flot awkwardly in his ribcage but it felt whole when she ran a finger over it, like it hadn't just been five centimeters deep in his body. Like fucking  _ magic. _

 

Duncan was still watching her when she finished--he hadn't realized anything had happened, other than her break in concentration. She didn't stop to explain to him what's he did, because there was more rib fractures and the more she stimulated Cailan's circulatory system and pushed blood around, the more it started pushing around the bad shit in his bloodstream, and she didn't have any time to lose.

 

By the time his ribs started looking like a normal human being's again, the sun was high in the sky and Duncan could fully see the amount of remodelling she had done. She was trembling when she finally sat back for a break, but the thrill of actually being able to accomplish something as complicated as that—there was nothing else like it. She wanted to write it all down or ask someone who knew more than her what it was she just did, but it was only her, Duncan, and the breathing, unconscious, but  _ living _ body of Cailan in the woods.

 

"You... manipulated his own blood to piece him back together." Duncan was shocked, he didn't understand what she had really done either. "That's... I've never heard of blood magic being used like that. Never."

 

And, like music to her ears, Cailan let out the  _ softest _ groan imaginable, but it was  _ crystal clear _ and lacked the watery gurgle it had before. He was going to be _ okay. _

 

"I owe you an apology," Duncan began. 

 

"...we're not out of the woods yet," she said evenly, though her hands twitched by her sides. This trip to Thedas had been a rollercoaster through hell, and it had barely been  _ two weeks. _ "He still hasn't woken up yet."

 

"I was wrong to doubt you," he pressed. They were both sitting across from one another, on either side of Cailan as they spoke, but Duncan looked like he wanted to give her a hug or something. She would have accept it. "Whatever happens... even if he doesn't wake up... Your secret is safe with me."

 

And  _ oh _ , now she really was going to cry. She leaned forward without thinking, and wrapped her arms around the old man in an awkward towering hug. He returned it, evenly, and laughed as she slobbered big fat tears into his shoulder.

 

"It's okay, we'll be fine, we'll figure something out."

 

"N-no! it's not that, I just..." She choked on her own tears. She had needed to hear that kind of reassurance since… since she got lost in the first place. "You just reminded me... of m-my dad just then."

 

He smiled at her as she pulled back, and he gave her a moment to compose herself before he spoke. "Well, I hope in the meantime, I can do him some justice while we're on the run."

 

Quietly, between them, Cailan let out another soft gasp. They both turned their heads, and in amazement, they watched as the young man blearily opened his eyes and wheezed.

 

"A...m....... I....?" Duncan hurried towards the water's edge and they gave him something to drink, the words not coming for a long while until he was more conscious. "Am.... I... alive?"

 

" _ Yes _ ," said Cinna, leaning towards him. His eyes just barely ticked towards her, barely seeing anything at all, but it showed a sign of life. He was  _ there _ , he was  _ breathing _ , he had  _ spoken. _ They still had hope. "You're  _ alive! _ "

 

"H....how?" His left hand twitched, as if to feel place where his armor had failed, but he was too weak to move it.

 

"It's a long story," said Duncan. His eyes were shining and she was pretty it was his turn now to get emotional. "Don't strain yourself, your highness, you're going to be okay."

 

"M...my..."

 

Cinna turned her head to catch what he said, but the words faded out. She looked at Duncan. "What did he say?"

 

Cailan tried again. This time, he grit his teeth as he spoke. "I cant... I can't feel my legs."

 

And that was where they found themselves. Stranded, alone, alive, but with that little sliver of hope dashed as a new problem arose.

 

Because how could the hero-king survive the blight if he couldn't even run from it?

  
  



	9. A Lesson In Dying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cinna, Cailan and Duncan win the award for the worst camping trip ever and consider their options

“aaAAHHAAARRRUGHH!!!!”

“Sorry! I'm sorry!!”

Cinna winced as she gently tried to lay Cailan back down on the grass. Moving him while trying to stay ahead of the horde was difficult—their travel speed was reduced to practically nothing, now that he was awake. He passed out several times as they tried to carry him upstream and they had basically given up by the afternoon. Even by fashioning a type of cot out of her blouse and spare cloth, carrying him was too painful for them to manage. She couldn’t even turn him over without causing Cailan in horrible agony.

“You-you’re sorry?” the king wasn’t in a good mood either- she could tell he was torn between being driven to tears and fury. He chose the latter, because _apparently_ having one’s eyes water after having every single one of his ribs broken and being paralyzed by an ogre wasn’t very _masculine._ “D-don’t _drop me_ next t-time.”

He was getting weaker as the days past. They had survived five days after Ostagar, but the last two had been spent looking for food and any herbs they came across to try and stave off infection. The last of the ointment Cinna had been given was gone. Duncan had used his share sparingly—the wound in his side was still quite bad, but it was the two missing fingers on his left hand that were more troubling, since he was doing the most foraging and hunting. The early signs of a fever was there as he set down firewood, and she watching him warily as he sat down. Without Duncan, they were pretty much screwed.

But one of them was already screwed, seeing as Cailan had caught the _fucking blight._

“T-tell me again how… you both made it?”

He was talking in the past tense, like he had already perished during the battle. He had this brittle sort of air to him—fragile, like he was just barely keeping himself together when he wasn't screaming in agony. But he had his head up on a pillow and kept his eyes open, tracking their movements like his life depended on it. His skin was already turning ashy—whatever she had done before had slowed the infection from spreading, but it was at full force now.

Duncan’s response was gentle, like he was speaking to a small child. “After the ogre went down, we took you and ran, your highness.”

She appreciated the fact that he didn’t rat her out even though Cailan was _dying_. After all that…

At the memory of the ogre, the king went still. “And w-what of… my uncle? Did you see him… during the conflict?”

He was asking if Loghain was dead, and as she tore the bottom of her shirt to make more bandages she glanced up to watch Duncan’s reaction. “I… did not see him, I’m afraid.”

It wasn’t a lie. Duncan was trying his hardest not to bring up the worst parts of the battle, but Cinna just didn’t see how keeping him the dark of their betrayal would do any difference. If anything, it just made it look like Cailan’s desire to fight the blight and be a hero like his old man was what caused the deaths of his men and doomed Ferelden.

 

Which was bullshit. Cailan was too young to go out like this, he deserved to be fucking pissed about his death.

“Loghain bolted.” She could deal with the burning stare of Duncan from across their fire. He could yell at her later. Cailan deserved to hear the truth--he was an adult, he deserved to be treated like one. “He saw that the horde was larger than expected and he ordered his soldiers to retreat.”

Cailan abruptly tried to sit up, his eyes wide, but he cried out in pain and barely made it an inch before he fell back down. “W-what?!”

“I don’t even know if he tried helping--” Duncan was frowning heavily now, but as she finished tearing the bottom part of her shirt and bound the cloth together for later, she shared a glance with both men. “--The beacon was lit; Alistair and Duran did their job. If Loghain hadn’t _chickened out_ , things probably would have gone differently.”

“It… may not have been so simple,” started Duncan, but she stopped him.

“I’m sorry, are you making excuses for him? Look where we are right now.” She shook her head and let herself fall back, sitting cross-legged. It might’ve been extremely unladylike in their eyes, but she honestly didn’t give a shit anymore. “If Loghain had held up his end of the plan, a majority of the darkspawn would have been distracted. But he didn’t, and he ran, and that’s why we’re here now. Blame him for his mistakes, quit pussyfooting around the truth just because of his heroic past.”

At the end she was looking fully at Cailan, and he had gone completely silent. Finally, struggling, both with the pain in his back and the pain of his Uncle’s betrayal, he said in a raspy voice, “…Why? Why w-would he do this?”

“I’m sorry, Cailan... I do not know,” murmured Duncan. “But rest assured, he will not go unpunished. I promise you that.”

“G-good.” Cailan coughed harshly into his hand and shuddered when the movement jostled his broken ribs. When he opened his eyes a moment later, he seemed resigned, defeated. His mouth was tinged with an inky blackness. “T-tell… tell him I sent you… after I’m gone.”

Cinna bit down on a retort as she moved over to watch his symptoms. She took his wrist with her hand and felt for his heartbeat. It was present, despite the blight, it was beating. To her that was still worth something. “You’re not dead yet.”

“I… admire your posi…tivity,” he rasped. There was a slight curve to his mouth, and he weakly turned his head towards her. “But I’m afraid… I’ll have to d-disappoint you.”

She pressed her nail into his wrist--it wasn’t like it’d hurt, but she was annoyed that he had just given up so quickly (or maybe she just didn’t want to face the facts and give up, herself). A tiny bead of blood welled up where her nail bit into his skin, and she swiped it off with her thumb.

Duncan watched her, carefully. It was clear to him that she was plotting something. “What are you thinking?”

She looked down at Cailan, who was watching her with a half-amused, half-exhausted stare. “If you could magically make it all the way to Loghain and got to tell him to stuff it, what would you say?”

“Hypo…thetically speaking? I… would tell him to stuff it,” he parroted back, and seemed quite pleased with himself when she sighed and shook her head. His face fell a moment later when he really thought about it. “I… would also… want to ask him i-if it was worth it.”

“He could be all the way to Redcliffe by now,” thought Duncan out loud. “If Arl Eamon’s forces haven’t intercepted them yet.”

“t-they’d have… no idea what really happened,” Cailan said quietly. With great effort, he laid both hands on his stomach and looked up at the overcast sky. Cinna couldn’t tell if it was natural or if it came from the remains of Ostagar.

They sat there for a moment in silence, mulling over the reality of their situation. Eamon’s army—if it even came at all, Cinna noted--would accept whatever bullshit Loghain spun and accept their deaths as fact, since Loghain had been an honorable man up until this point unless you discounted all the shady bullshit he did behind the scenes that everyone liked to conveniently forget about or justify. Like selling elves from the Denerim alienage into slavery. ( _Like, what the fuck?_ Way to go straight from hero to evil caricature in like three seconds flat.)

It had probably been a long time coming, to be honest. She knew his devotion to keeping Orlais out of Ferelden from the books, she knew some extent of the politics at play. She felt bad for him, to some degree, but also _Fuck Loghain, absolutely and completely_ . She had an arrow go straight through her _goddamn arm_ and then into her _leg, and into her fucking arm again._ That was on _him._

“If… you’re fast enough,” Cailan murmured, his face completely blank. “Y-you could inter… intercept Eamon’s army before Loghain gets to them…”

Duncan gave him a gentle look, and said, “We’re not about to leave you, your highness.”

“H-Hypothetically…. speaking, if you did,” he argued, his voice hoarse. He swallowed something painful and opened his eyes. “You’d have a better chance.”

“We’re not having this conversation,” Cinna said flatly, and thank god Duncan was with her on that because if they just let Cailan waste away in the woods she would have cried. “Fuck ’em, they’re not important right now. We can keep going with the pace we’ve been making.”

“That’s… a lie,” said Cailan, and she frowned heavily at him. He closed his eyes again. “If the country believes Loghain had n-no other option th-than to retreat, who knows what he’ll do.”

Probably try to plunge the country into a civil war to drive out the rest of Orlais’s influence and put his daughter on the throne.

She was still thinking deeply by the time Duncan made them a fire. It wasn’t a very large one, and the tiny amount of smoke that rose in the air was a telling mark of their presence in the woods. Any good enough tracker would be able to see them from far enough away, and they had no way of running away with Cailan’s condition.

He was holding them back, his time was slowly running out, and Cailan knew it.

“Hypothetically speaking,” Cinna started, watching Cailan fumble his way into knitting his hands together over his stomach. He looked like he was preparing himself to be fucking buried—he was already the right shade of a corpse. “If there was a way of slowing the taint…”

“Cinna, what are you—” Duncan started, but her mind was running a mile a minute and she continued.

“If there was a way to slow it down in your bloodstream, while it worked its way through your body,” she said, and she had Cailan’s eyes on her as she leaned forward. Her heart was racing, and she clenched and unclenched her hands on her lap. “Would you question the methods?”

He pursed his lips and looked at her dubiously. But there—in his eyes, she could see a little flutter of hope. He didn’t _want_ to die. “It depends, w-what degree are you talking about…?”

Duncan looked about a second from getting up. “Cinna, don’t—”

“ _Nobody else_ would be suffering,” she said quickly, and already she had begun forming a plan in her head. “We’re running short of options anyway.”

“Be sure about what you’re speaking of,” Duncan warned. His face was grave as he looked between them both, but he was about as desperate as she was when it came to coming up with a plan of action.

Cailan was still doubting her. She was being damn vague about it, so she wasn’t surprised that he didn’t think it would work. He _was_ trying to be realistic, about the whole leaving him behind thing—a bit harsh, stupid, absolutely idiotic, but realistic—a new crackpot idea really didn’t sound like it was worth much. But they had so few options, it was at least worth hearing out.

“W-why didn’t you… mention this before..?” he rasped.

She shook her head and raked a hand through her hair. _It was possible,_ she knew it. She had slowed down his system before—she didn’t know how, but they had the option, and if it had been done once she could do it again.

 

“You won’t like it.”

“I don’t like a-any of this,” he snapped. The irritation only seemed to drain him further. His fingers twisted in the worn fabric of his tunic, nervously. But he looked like he wanted to hear her out. “Just tell me the truth. I d-don’t have… the time t-to wait.”

Duncan’s expression was pinched. He knew there wasn’t any other cure for the blight other than being a Grey Warden, but a little bit hope was a dangerous thing. It made people want to believe in the impossible.

It came down to her. She made the choice to try.

“It’s possible,” she breathed, evenly, and watched Cailan’s expression still. “I think I can save you with blood magic.”

“Save me?” If he was capable of laughing he would have done it, but all that came out was a wheeze. “Don’t you mean kill me? Dark magic like that… is unforgivable in the e-eyes of the maker.”

“Perhaps… not in this situation,” Duncan said gently. He looked extremely torn between not wanting to rile up Cailan (by challenging the very well-founded belief that blood magic was wrong and all it did was destroy) and believing what he had seen with his own two eyes, just a little while ago. “The reason you’re alive is because of it. In fact, I doubt any of us would be alive. Surely not myself.”

Cailan’s eyes tracked Duncan’s hand as he gently patted the spot where a chunk had been taken out of him during the battle, and the impossibility of actually escaping Ostagar after being so horribly overridden finally sunk in. In his eyes, Cinna could practically see the battle reflect in them.  He looked between them both, frozen.

A heartbeat passed between them. Then, to her, he said, “I didn’t… pin you as a blood mage, when w-we first met.”

“Well, I did curtsy like an idiot,” she said dryly. Duncan sighed and shook his head. “I didn’t exactly grow up around aristocracy.”

“An a-apostate... blood mage… and a Grey Warden,” he said, and despite the severity of the words he seemed slightly amused. Though, that could have been the delirium making him that way.

“Allegedly,” she shot back. “I haven’t had as much luck in that department. But a dumbass with a knife taught me that blood is just another way to use magic—it’s the intent, and what comes from _you_ that’s important.”

He laughed, and sluggishly brought a hand to cover his eyes as the air escaped his lungs and he started coughing.

She could see the veins in his wrist were slowly blackening.

“Okay, fine… What do I have t-to lose?”

 


	10. Born In The Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Non-canon amigos revel in blood magic while the OP celebrates the holidays with no power

Cina didn’t have any paper to document her thought process as she worked, though she wished she did.

Cailan was deeply interested in what she was planning on doing. Which was understandable, because she had already messed around with his system while he was unconscious, and now that the taint had taken a hold, it was going to be a whole lot harder to slow it down. She didn’t even really know what she was doing.

“It could be...” she started, as she sat in front of him that night, while their fire cast an orange hue over their faces. Cailan was still laying on his bed of grass with a shirt tucked under him, but his bandages had been cleaned and dressed (the best they could be), as were hers and Duncan's. “That the taint works as a sort of Virus or bacteria.”

Just about the only thing she had to write with was a stick in the dirt, so she made do. She made a graph.

“You have your point of infection—in the blood, and rapidly it spreads throughout the body. Some people are more susceptible to it than others and some people’s immune systems are able to fight it off for years without many side effects.” She had their attention as they huddled around the fire, and she knew both had their own sources and information on the blight that was probably a whole more fleshed out. All she had was three games, a couple books, and her memory of the internet and a high school education. “Well, besides the really cool ones.”

“Being able to sense the darkspawn comes with its own issues, I assure you,” said Duncan. He hadn’t gotten much (or any) sleep since the attack, and he kept waking up every few minutes sensing darkspawn in the woods. The worse it got, the more they knew they had to move on.

Cinna cracked her knuckles and gently rolled her shoulders. “Yeah, but I haven’t shown any grey-warden powers since my joining and it's been nearly two weeks.”

“Is that common...?” Cailan’s pain had subsided somewhat, since they decided not to move him again with his back and the taint getting significantly worse. Now, he was showing similar signs of an infection like Duncan, but worse. His veins were blacker, and he was sweating more fluids than he could replace.

Duncan looked at her carefully. “It’s not, Cinna is a… rather particular case.”

“Which is good in the sense that I don’t have any horrible archdemon nightmares. Bad in the sense that I have no idea where the horde is coming from.”

“But y-you had the taint.” Cailan was frowning. “There’s… no such thing as…as a middle ground. You either become a grey warden… o-or you die.”

“It doesn’t make any sense to me either,” she said, as she sketched out her graph in the dirt. “A lot of things don’t really make sense, I’m trying to figure it out too. But what’s important is that I’m not dead of the blight and that’s all we really need. I’m not the patient here, so sush.”

He gave her a flat look, hardly amused. “But it _ is _ interesting.”

 

“Shhhhushhh!”

 

Duncan was thinking deeply, leaned up against an old tree with his sword laying by his side. Technically, she was supposed to be the one on watch, but there were more important things at the moment. “There have been others who thought the blight to be a type of plague. It’s magical properties though are different from common plights. There are medicines that can help soften it, but those as well have their own magical properties and are unfortunately rare.”

“A-and I doubt it would make much of a difference,” Cailan softly smiled.

She set her stick down and sat up straight, taking one last glance at her graph. “Which is why this is gonna have to work. Give me your hand.”

Cailan watched her with dry amusement as she gripped his hand in hers and roughly turned it over, so her index fingers lay over the veins in his wrist. He sighed. “…I’ve known Chevaliers w-with more tact th-than you.”

Cinna had her eyes closed and legs crossed as she sat by his side—her face was empty, but her eyebrow twitched. “It's not a marriage proposal, I’m holding your hand, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“You’d… be surprised,” Cailan said, coughing slightly. There was an unhealthy wheeze to each of his breaths and she could feel a weakness in his pulse with every heartbeat. “There are many… who would not even dream of being t-this close to a king.”

Cinna opened one eye and stared down at him. “…lucky for me, you could be the earl of sandwiches and it wouldn’t change things.”

 

Duncan smiled lightly at her. “How fortunate for his highness, then.”

Cailan let out a soft huff. He stared up at her with all the vitriol of a spoiled child. “Y-you know, you’re a lot ruder than you first let on.”

“Thanks.” She smiled, and closed her eyes again, trying to focus. “Now stop talking.”

The thing about the taint was, it  _ was _ magical—Duncan was right. There was a quality about it that she couldn’t grasp as she tapped into the ebb and flow of Cailan’s veins. When she closed her eyes she could imagine what it must’ve looked like—the blood cells rushing past her finger on his wrist, into his fingers and back out. A thick substance coated the outside of each capillary made of a buildup of dying blood cells slowly being eaten away by the taint. His immune system was in overdrive, but there was no stopping it. The taint infected everything, and nothing was strong enough to combat it—it was an unstoppable force. And though she  _ knew _ there was a way to slow down Cailan’s heart and system, she didn’t know how healthy it was, or even if he’d survive being put in a semi-coma, so that was her fallback plan, if all else failed. Just shut it all down. Turn off the computer and turn it back on.

 

But then again people weren't computers, and Cailan was…. squishy, and weak. 

Back to that part about the only important thing about her being that she was somewhat immune to the blight, though. That was important.

“Ouch!” Cailan flinched when she flicked her wrist and forced a small sliver of blood out of his skin. “Give some warning next time??”

Cinna honestly couldn’t fathom how he could be whining about this when so many of his ribs were broken and he had literally been crushed and thrown like a styrofoam cup, but she held her tongue and stayed focused.

“…what are you doing now?” Duncan watched her levitate the speck of crimson in her hand and twirl it, ever so slightly. It was darker than usual, but she had specifically tried to draw the least blight-infected blood cells. Still, there was a lot of it present despite her best efforts.

Neither of them really seemed to like it when she forced out a little blood from her own finger and levitated it in her other hand as she looked down at her chart.

“Okay so, the thing that you said about earlier Duncan, about ways to combat viruses; you’re right, there’s a lot of different types. Some cures can be natural, I guess, and can come from herbs and minerals, some can be fought by arcane healing, which is like cheating but its magic so whatever—” she said, bringing the two scarlet drops together.

She could picture in her mind what was supposed to happen and what wasn’t and kept the blood spinning as they merged. She could feel where hers and Cailan’s began but the two became muddied quickly, and she focused on the feeling of it and waited for what she was looking for.

“In theory, and don’t quote me on this because I'm not a doctor, the antibodies in my blood should be enough to combat the taint. In  _ theory _ .”

“…antibodies?” Cailan wheezed, watching her work with thinly veiled apprehension and curiosity. 

 

It wasn’t like textbook blood magic--she hadn’t whipped out a knife and started hacking away, like he expected. But it was weird, and it was foreign, so she didn’t take him flinching personal. Cinna was flincing on the inside too. 

“It’s like…” Cinna scrunched up her face and the blood in her hand spun faster.  _ Fuck,  _ she forgot Thedas was stuck in medieval times and nobody even knew what a cell was.  _ What did they even think of bacteria? Did healers still believe in the four humors? Did women get diagnosed with hysteria and wandering uterus syndrome? _ “Think of a callus that builds up after a lot of stress to your hands, but smaller. If you catch a cold before everyone else, you don’t usually get the same sickness again a second time, because your immune system has adapted to take out the germs more efficiently.”

“…like how a grey warden has adapted to the taint? We have a natural immunity,” Duncan nodded.

“Riiiiight. Cailan gave her a blank stare. For a guy on his deathbed he was sure making this hard on her. “What does this have to do with you  _ ripping the blood  _ out of me?’

“I’m going to try and make a temporary cure for the blight,” she said shortly. “By giving you a blood transfusion. Cross your fingers this actually works, because we might not be compatible, and you might have a really  _ annoying _ blood type. I don’t actually know how to check for that.”

The fire crackled behind them and she quit spinning the sample in her hand.

Nothing had particularly changed. But she had only drawn a small amount—and she could still feel parts that belonged to her amongst Cailan’s tainted blood, which meant that it hadn’t been taken over and she had been onto something with her talk about immunities.

She looked down at her little chart in the dirt, which was where all of her scribblings came to fruition, and she could make sense of which blood types were compatible or not. 

 

“I’m O positive... which is common as hell and means I can donate to any kind as long as they’re also  _ positive _ . If you’re O negative we’re completely screwed, but I’d say…. There’s a  _ higher chance _ you’re an A or B negative or something, in which case, we’re  _ also screwed _ but hey at least we tried. If you had a blood relative you’d probably have a much better chance at a match.”

Duncan and Cailan shared a look, thinking the same thing at once. “Alistair.”

Cinna cleared her throat and tried to look at least a little bit shocked. “Hm?”

“It’s a long story, but perhaps if we have the time in the future,” Duncan started, but Cailan waved him off.

“He… My father… He’s my half brother. Or… was.” A shadow passed over his face, and Cinna was caught between feigning turmoil over Alistair’s  _ presumed death  _ and pretending to be surprised of his super secret blood status. “I’m… afraid we’ll never get to know one another now.”

Duncan’s face clouded over when she turned her head to look at him, and it occurred to her that both men thought they were the only survivors. The weight they must’ve felt…  _ damn _ . At least Cinna had the advantage of foresight.

Cailan looked at her for a long, hard time. “So… How do you know all this… technical nonsense?”

“Maaagiiiic,” She said sarcastically. They didn’t look amused, though, so she pursed her lips and tried to give them a respectable enough answer. “but honestly… I… read… a lot. I was basically a hermit until a little while ago. With no real friends or reason to leave my house, there wasn’t much to do other than learn irrelevant stuff I’d probably never end up needing. If you ever want to know about… art history, or the evolution of the common dog, you know who to turn to.”

For a moment Cailan was silent, and she had the oddest feeling of déjà vu when he stuck her with the most pitiful puppy dog face. _ Ugh. _ “It must’ve been quite lonely.”

“Yeah,” she said, rather uncomfortably. She actually really didn’t want to talk about it. She squared her shoulders and got to work instead, because thinking about shit like that only made her sad and depressed, and they were already in a bad spot and didn’t need her shitty life decisions weighing them down. “So, now I’m going to slowly drain your blood, replace it with mine and hope for the best. Got it? Good.”

He blinked, and she watched as panic set in his eyes. “…you’re going to do what now?”

 


	11. God Is A Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the worst camping trip ever.

_It fucking worked._

Or, it _was_ working, albeit slowly. With nothing else to lose and Cailan slowly dying, practicing blood magic was a whole lot less stressful that she initially thought. Yeah, they were skeeved out of it and didn’t like it when she did her whole blood floaty thingy but she didn’t treat it like _magic_ , and stuck to explaining what she did in a scientific way. It might’ve helped—it might not have. But as desperate as they were, it was worth a shot. And if it didn’t work, _Cailan was already dying_ , so it wasn’t like she was going to make him _double dead._

He didn’t really appreciate it when she put it that way. But he was moping a _whole hell of a lot,_ so she got the impression that no matter what she did he was going to be in a bad mood.

To be safe, since he had already lost a lot of blood during the battle, she donated maybe half a pint that night and waited to see if he had any adverse effects. Duncan had stayed up as well. She wasn’t sure if it was because he could sense the darkspawn incoming and wanted to stay alert, or more blood magic just freaked him out… But he trusted her enough to let her fuck around with the king of Ferelden’s blood, so it was probably okay?

Cailan’s fever was still in effect that morning, which was to be expected. His skin was flaming hot to the touch, and it took a long time for him to be fully awake. He was lethargic, and slow, and quite out of it, but when she took his pulse his heartbeat was going strong and the blight hadn’t spread any further.

She still had no idea if they were a compatible blood type or not and it was eating her up inside all throughout the night as she checked his vitals. Thankfully, she hadn’t come down with an infection from her arrow wounds, unlike Duncan, so he was ruled out as a donor immediately. She was also trying to keep an eye on his wounds to see how badly he had been done in. They kept running out of bandages and she wasn’t sure how to heal wounds at all—It was probably something to do with clotting… but Cinna wasn’t trying for accidental magic, like with Jowan. She could move it around in the body, but she couldn't cause the right reaction. Cinna wasn’t good enough yet to grasp the finer parts of the immune system, _even though_ she knew it was possible, and it irked her to no end. It was _infuriating_.

She gave another pint in the morning, after he had fully woken up, and took it easy until the afternoon. She wasn’t exactly in a good state to be a donor in the first place, what with being injured herself, but she knew her limits and drank enough water to keep her from keeling over.

They didn’t have much food to begin with but shared it evenly. Three days of staying in the same spot, after barely making any distance from the horde was anxiety inducing, and the longer they camped out the less sleep Duncan got, until she was pretty sure he hadn’t slept at all. They were running themselves ragged. They wouldn’t make it much longer, before the horde caught up to them or they died from starvation. They needed better bandages, and an actual legitimate healer who could take care of them instead of a newly minted blood mage who was pulling medical knowledge out of her ass.

Blood magic wasn’t even supposed to work the way she was forcing it to do—it was offensive, and destructive. Which was why it was so hated, because it cut people off from the fade and ruined their minds, but Cinna was already completely cut off from the fade, so she had to go about things her own way. It worked in their favor, since the taint was too busy fighting her blood to infect the rest of Cailan, but she wasn’t sure about the long-term effects. She didn’t know what she was doing--rthere wasn’t anyone for her to ask. She worked on pulling the infected, dead blood cells and tainted fluids out of Cailan’s veins and flushing his system, in the hopes that eventually, her antibodies and his immune system would be enough to fight back the blight, so he wasn’t on death’s door. He certainly wasn’t getting any worse, but he wasn’t any better, but she’d take what she could get.

The other problem was his shattered rib cage and his broken spine—both of which were horrifying degrees of broken on their own, but as long as they didn’t move him, he could _breathe_ , and the pain was a little more manageable. Especially now that his heart wasn’t in overdrive trying to fight a magic bullshit evil infection trying to turn him into a darkspawn.

“I’ll be back in five,” she said to Duncan, getting up from her spot. Her legs were sore from all the sitting, and the arrow wound in her thigh also probably had something to do with it. She limped away from the heat of the fire. “Call me if there’s anything.”

Limping away to go wash her face for the first time in…. _Jesus, since Ostagar…?_ Cinna watched as a crow landed in front of her, on a rock by the creek, and started getting weird ideas about how they’d make it out of the forest alive. A bird like that wasn’t _exactly_ a good meal, but it wasn’t like they _had a lot of options_.

She drew her hand up to try and manipulate the bird’s blood into giving it some sort of heart attack. All she’d have to do was picture a bubble. That’s all. It was close enough for her to grab it if she lunged, and they were _starving--_

 

But it squawked and flew away before anything happened.

 

“You could've been so good with _dipping sauce_ ,” she groaned, watching it take to the skies.

After Cinna watched her face, she re-braided her hair the same way Kara had done for her, to the best of her ability. She thought about her sister, and her dad, and the rest of her family back home. She wondered a lot about whether they thought she was dead or if they searched the forest for her. She wondered if their dogs were alright, or if they even noticed her gone. She wondered if her disappearance even made that much of a difference in their lives. She hoped they’d be okay without her.

When Cinna laid back down on the grass next to Cailan as he slept, and she thought a lot about her life and how she had gotten to a place like this. She was so caught up in her memories she didn’t hear Duncan the first time and he had to repeat himself.

“Do you believe in the Maker?”

“I don’t know.” Which was an honest answer, because she honestly didn’t. She knew enough about Thedas that there had to be _some_ degree of truth to the chant of light but had grown up in a home with… some weird circumstances involving religion she didn’t really feel like getting into. The thought of a life after death had never really been part of the plan.  

 

(It was probably one of the few things in her life Cinna was actually, genuinely bitter about. Especially now, considering where she was.)

She knew the elven pantheon were a thing, and that there were beings that walked Thedas which were like gods, but the society she had grown up in was devoid of that kind of thing. All they had was _belief_ , and stories, and a long blood history of humans killing each other for personal gain. Honestly, the fact that Thedas had irrefutable proof of _souls being real_ and _magic_ and _spirits_ was enough to shake earth’s beliefs to the core. They kinda got off _easy_ , in Cinna’s opinion. It was hard not to believe in something when the _fade_ existed.

…not that she could access it at all.

Not that she could sense anything, actually, other than when she was doing blood magic. So when Duncan sat up abruptly and reached for his sword, she knew they had trouble on the way.

 

“Scouts, multiple-- _be ready_.”

She could hear a sharp intake of breath from Cailan’s direction, which meant he was also awake, despite them making relatively little sound ( _troubling. Could he sense the darkspawn?_ ) and Cinna scrambled to her feet. “They couldn't have given us a _warning?_ ”

 

“This _is_ your warning,” he said, sword drawn.

Despite missing the missing fingers, Duncan got to work and cut down the first Genlock that got too close. It wasn’t alone, though, and he stepped out of the way in time and blocked a sword swipe from a Hurlock. There were four of them in total, not counting the one Duncan had cut down, and Cinna grabbed a sturdy looking tree branch and snuck up behind them while they were busy.

Their attention as on Duncan as he tried to keep his distance, but they had taken several hard swings to his armor. An archer let loose an arrow and it hit its mark, and _he_ _went down_ \--but not before Cinna had bashed a genlocks head in and kicked another one to the ground. It floundered, caught off guard, and she was reminded of Alistair the day them met when it rolled onto its side.

 

She didn’t have any blood to use from the battlefield. The darkspawn had nothing but the taint in their veins, but she made do with her stick, jabbing and swinging, pulling from her lessons with Duncan back when all she had to worry about was Ostagar and the _fantasy of running away beforehand_.

“Two down!”

One Hurlock remained, and Duncan had given it everything he had—but he was tired and exhausted from staying up for so long, and _freshly injured._ They shouldn’t have stayed in one place as long as they had. The bulky creature wore thick heavy armor and a helmet---her stick just bounced off it, and she froze, unsure what to do.

 

It’s eyes shone black, sunk into its bony eye sockets as it turned to face her. She noticed the caked blood on its gauntlets and legs before it got too far, and a moment later the creature was up in the trees, making a horrible wailing sound to alert others in the area until she dropped it. Duncan put its sword through its neck a moment later.

“We need… to move on,” he panted, clutching his chest. She could already tell he was sporting several new bruises amongst his fractured ribs, and she helped him back to the fire. The arrow lodged in his shin was shallow, but the barbed arrowhead remained stuck when he tried to remove it. “It’s not safe here any more…”

Cailan was surprisingly awake and alert, slightly sitting up despite what must’ve been horrible agonizing pain. “T-There’s… going to be more. A lot more… Are you okay?”

Cinna kicked out the last embers of their campfire tucked their essentials tucked into her pockets. She missed her mage’s staff, with the spear on the end, but it was long gone. Duncan was busy nursing his leg and could barely stand when another scouting party emerged from the bush, and Cinna was on her own.

Funny how she ended up being the one to do everything, in the end. Despite blood magic being a horrible crime against god, or the maker, or _whatever,_ it saved them time and time again, this time making no difference.

With her being the centre of attention though, the five darkspawn honed in on her, and Cinna had to draw her own blood to actually stand a chance. Which was bad, since she was already running dangerously low.

“Get moving, I’ve got this!” It was surprising how easily blood magic let itself be used offensively. The amount she drew from her hand was enough, and it flew through the air with a fluid, snake-like motion. Once it met the darkspawn, she forced it into their eyes, mouths—whatever she could to reach the brain, and they fell like dead weight after that.

The first closest two were the easiest, and she stepped around their corpses as the other three watched her. She didn’t see the fourth, hidden darkspawn until it was right on top of her, knife in hand, and she went _down._

“AarrRGHH!” Duncan began to drag Cailan away, slowly, even with his injured leg, but the sound he made was more than enough to draw more darkspawn to the area. It echoed, and even when the warden commander put his hand over Cailan’s mouth, his muffled cries were loud, pained, and just as terrible.

“ _F-fuck, fuck!!”_

Cinna’s hands were on her side to stop the bleeding and she wrestled with the genlock on the grass. Being stabbed in the side was so radically different than being shot with arrows, she could feel the twist of the blade, the movement of the metal on her bones as the creature tries to push it in deeper. She headbutted the genlock in the forehead and it _headbutted her back_ , equally as hard, with its bony skull and stars bloomed across her vision.

She squeezed her eyes shut. If this was it, at least she had made herself useful. At least she’d given Duncan and Cailan _a fighting fucking chance--_

 

_(--But oh god she didn’t want to die. She didn’t want this at all--)_

Crimson bloomed across her shirt- she was panicked—couldn’t use it to her advantage. Cinna had barely enough blood _left_ as it was, _she couldn't feel her arms_

At some point, she must’ve blacked out, because when she opened her eyes the genlock wasn’t sticking her with another knife. It was actually _quite dead_ and laying beside her.

“Well, you are in rough shape,” said a voice, and she must’ve been hallucinating the purple smoke and electricity in the air, because surely that wasn’t Flemeth talking, right? She heard a throaty chuckle and Cinna groaned, turning her head to the side. “You’re lucky your friends are easy to find. To think, the three of you running around in my backyard with me none the wiser. How _curious._ ”

“Ugg _gghhhh_ …” Cinna blacked out again before she could get a clear picture of the witch, but when she opened her eyes her limbs felt much lighter, and her side no longer hurt. She looked down at the grass to find the blade no longer _inside her._ “W…. what just… _whatthehell?_ ”

“Is that all you have to say?” Flemeth chuckled. She looked down at her with those yellow, piercing eyes of hers, dissecting Cinna down almost to her very soul.

 

She squirmed, unsure of what the witch was thinking, even after almost bleeding out on the grass.

 

Finally, the witch smirked, and said, “Well, I suppose a few more guests wouldn’t hurt.”  


And that was how she found herself whisked away to Flemeth’s cabin in the woods.

 


	12. The Kids Are Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is great! pay no attention to the witch behind the curtian!!

Morrigan had been expecting them by the time they reached the hut. Cinna all but fell off Flemeth's back, since she had turned herself into a fucking dragon to carry them all and defend them against the darkspawn, and by that time Cailan had passed out from the pain and Duncan was looking particularly green. But they were _alive._

“Oof!” Cinna clutched her side as she fell. Thankfully the ground was covered in a weird looking moss, so the fall wasn’t particularly hard. She looked up, and Morrigan stood above her, staring down at her with yellow, imperceptible eyes.

“The might of the remaining Grey Wardens reunites at last. How charming it is to see you again,” she said, and Cinna wracked her brain for a moment that had actually met in the flesh. The witch gave her a particularly vexing stare. “I’m glad mother finally located you. Though it appears that you stand just as well as you use magic.”

…what? Bitch?

Then it hit her.

“OH—were you the _crow?_ ” Cinna pulled herself to her feet and looked up at the woman. Morrigan stood much taller than she expected—taller than Alistair, at least—and she was wearing some purple garment with a million stitches holding it together and about a dozen charms and cords wrapped around her neck. Not the outfit Cinna was used to seeing her in, but it was appropriate for the weather considering how cold it was. Cinna dusted off her own rags and struggled to her feet. “Sorry for trying to give you a heart attack.”

“Yes, well,” she raised an eyebrow at her. “Don’t try it again unless you know what you’re _doing_.”

“…right.”

They watched as Flemeth melted back into her human form. The whole transition was seamless and fascinating, and Cinna’s heart beat faster as she watched the witch’s scales fall back and smooth into skin and wispy white hair. The magic in the air was tengible and fantastic, and Cinna wanted to ask the witch to do it again, to feed into the childish joy that Cinna got out of seeing it the first time, but then Cailan had woken up and was screaming in agony, again. Cinna’s face dropped and she was reminded of her priorities.

“What did you _do_ to him?” Morrigan asked as Flemeth knelt over the king. It only lasted for a split second, but as Cinna watched the witch’s hands light up a faint green, something seemed to _go right_ and Cailan shuddered, eyelids fluttering. The agony ended, and he slipped into unconsciousness.

“…my best?” Cinna watched as Flemeth’s bony fingers poked and prodded at the spot where the Ogre’s claws had punctured him, and the witch’s expression changed. Before they could say anything, Cinna felt the overwhelming need to explain herself before they jumped to the wrong conclusions. “H-he had the blight. _Still has it,_ but uuuh…. It could have been worse, really...”

“I should say so,” said Flemeth. Morrigan knelt down and touched Cailan’s wrist, frowning heavily. Mother and daughter shared a look.

Cinna awkwardly held her side as they whispered to one another (because despite Flemeth healing her she still had the weird phantom feeling of someone fucking rearranging her insides). Cailan’s breathing was steady, and for the first time there was no ugly rasping or cough. He just _looked_ like he was sleeping. Part of her worried she did something wrong.

 

“…Is he going to be okay?”

“Thanks to you, I suppose.” Despite her high praise, Morrigan continued to frown, and she ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t understand... what it is you did, but the blight has not killed him. It’s… slowed… He’s _stable_ , for now.”

“Oh, well…. _Shit_ , oh my god….” Cinna let out a laugh and felt a great weight lift off her shoulders she didn’t realize she had been carrying. Hearing that she had actually done _ok_ from someone who actually _knew_ what they were doing…. Cailan wasn’t going to die? _Honestly?_

“Careful what you say, girl,” chuckled Flemeth as she stood back up. The relief on Cinna’s face must’ve said it all, because Morrigan was rolling her eyes and looking rather uncomfortable. “You made her cry.”

“I-I’m just so happy!!” she sobbed, covering her face with one hand. Her tears were hot and heavy, and they slid down her face before she could stop them. It got worse when she looked over to see Duncan sitting on a stump, the arrow removed from his leg and an amused, proud look on his face. She excitedly pointed to Cailan slumbering on the ground. “We’re okay!!”

“We are,” said Duncan, smiling.

Cinna laughed and cried and wiped at her eyes and honestly could have passed out on the spot—the relief was enough to make her dizzy. She couldn’t even remember a time when she had been this emotional before. In two weeks, she had been shot four times and stabbed and clubbed and learned fucking blood magic and taken part in a giant fucking battle and now they were okay! _It was okay_ , and they were _alive_ , _and she had done good!!_

“Do save your tears for when you’ve outrun the blight,” Morrigan grumbled, taking three long strides away from her and towards her hut. She opened the door with a quick jerk, and called further into the house, “Get up! And quit eating my food. You have company.”

“Company?” called a voice, and there was _Duran_ , popping his head out, followed by a very bandaged Alistair, _oh wow—_

And then she was running and on her knees, and t _hey were on their knees_ and they had basically made a whole blockade in the doorway, laughing and crying and _hugging one another so hard Cinna couldn’t even breathe._

“You smell terrible!!” Alistair laughed, tugging at her ratty braid. He was breathless, and his eyes were shining, and the smile he had on his face was brighter than the entire shining sun. “How did you survive?”

“Duncan was with me!” she said excitedly, and she could feel him tense as his head snapped over to the warden commander, waving at them. “You have no idea how hard it was to get here in one piece!”  

Duran was the first to pull away, and though he was much less an emotional mess than Alistair (his noble upbringing might’ve had something to do with it, stiff upper lip and all that) he was grinning, wide and joyful. “We thought you were dead!”

“So did _I,_ honestly,” she confessed. They were still clogging the doorway, so Flemeth and Morrigan were standing around awkwardly as Cailan was just… sprawled out on the ground unconscious. She saw their attention drift towards the unconscious noble and watched with a sweet, sweet satisfaction as their eyes widened in recognition. “Guess who else I dragged with me—!”

“Oh _maker._ ” Alistair was on his feet and wobbling slightly. He held onto the door frame to support himself. He ran a hand through his hair and looked down at her in awe. “You saved the king?”

“Damn fucking right I did!!!” She sprung up and punched him in the arm, grinning so hard at him it hurt her face. He didn’t even seem to flinch.

“You couldn’t even cast a _fireball_ before, how in the world…?” he said, breathless. Before she knew it he was ruffling her hair again and pulled her into another hug. “That’s amazing! Is he going to be okay?”

She looked back and glanced at Flemeth. Duran had moved past them to go greet Duncan, and Morrigan was picking at her nails, trying to look busy while they made so much noise.

The eldest witch of the wilds shot her an amused smile and tipped her head in acknowledgement.

“Yeah,” Cinna laughed, fumbling with her messy hair as she stepped away from Alistair. “I think we all are.”

And for once, she was right. Even though they had a long, long road ahead of them.  

 

 

“Ooooohhhhh _hhhhhhhhhh yeahhhhh…_.” Cinna closed her eyes and let her head fall onto the back of the little wooden tub Flemeth had so graciously filled for her. She didn’t have the luxury of having a bubble bath, but a warm tub of water was more than she had had in nearly three weeks. She was going to milk this for all it was worth.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” huffed Morrigan from across the yard. It was an outdoor bathtub, so she couldn’t exactly have a lot of privacy, so Cinna drew her arms up over her chest and sunk down, embarrassed. “Do tell me, your wardens don’t bathe like dogs, do they?”

Cinna’s face colored and she looked down at her bathtub water. “They did expect me to jump in a river… But they’re not _my_ wardens…. I’m just a member in spirit.”

“And yet you seem to have mastered the taint,” she said, her voice high and speculative. She was washing all the gross bandages and rags they had used for the past couple of days. Cinna’s ripped up shirt and pants were laying by her side, alongside the rest of their dirty clothes.

“I didn’t master it,” she mumbled. “I don’t even really _know_ what its effects were on me… _or Cailan_ , for that matter.”

“Well, tis’ certainly interesting.”

Cinna watched the witch scrub away the blood and grit from their rags. The bathtub water was warm--achingly so, and it was doing wonderful things for all the little cuts and bruises littering her skin. Good for all the new injuries she had collected since she came to Thedas. Her fingers ghosted over the shiny pink scar tissue on her shoulder and her arm. Flemeth had healed more than just her stab wound when she found them—and it was amazing how quickly and easily all that pain and anguish was wiped away with a simple wave of the hand.

 

Back home she’d probably need like, a million stitches, right? But at least then they wouldn’t _scar_ so badly...

There was a dime-sized indent in her forehead as she ran her hands through her wet hair, that she hadn’t even known about until it had healed. A souvenir from getting her head bashed in at Ostagar, now delicately healed over. With all the wound she had collected in the last three weeks, she wondered if she even looked like herself anymore. She didn’t ache in any of the places she had been stabbed or shot or whacked, but it was strange looking down at herself and seeing such a dramatic change.

“Mother wishes to speak to you after you’re done,” Morrigan said loftily, rising from her washbasin. She took Cinna’s old ratty tank top and her bra and went to go hang them up. “She, as well as I, would like to know what you did exactly to heal your fallen comrade.”

“Right,” she said, and moved to get out of the tub. Before she did so, she froze, the tips of her hears turning a rosy shade of pink. “C-could I um…. have some privacy?”

Morrigan scoffed and turned her back to her. “There’s a fresh set of clothes to your right you can borrow. Do try not to _stretch them_.”

Cinna squinted at her suspiciously. “Uh, okay….”

When she finally got out of the tub, she understood what Morrigan had meant. Cinna wasn’t exactly _skinny_ —nobody in her family was—she had a healthy weight to her. _Maybe a bit more than that,_ but it wasn’t something she was unfamiliar with. Not like the rail-thin, underfeed population of Ferelden, and definitely not like skinny swamp witch Morrigan... What had Flemeth even fed her growing up? Or had she been expected to hunt and gather from childhood? Cinna almost felt bad for her, if she hadn’t just made a comment about her weight. _Ugh_.

 

So, things were getting off to a great start, obviously.

 

Maybe trying to kill her and to eat her out of desperation had started them off on the wrong foot… whoops?

 

After buttoning up the shirt the fabric pulled around her arms and shoulders quite uncomfortably. Thank god she was given a skirt because she was pretty sure anything Morrigan lent her would have torn _immediately_.  The skirt was swooshy around her legs and she ran her fingers over the stitches and patches and wondered if Morrigan sewed all her clothes herself. She’d have to, if she lived so cut off from civilization, right? Maybe that could be her in to making morrigan like her. They could talk about… sewing…. And stuff… and get along.

And it’d totally work too, because Morrigan totally wasn't the type to hold a grudge and dislike people for petty innocuous reasons.

 

…..right?

 

_Ugggh..._

 

Nevertheless, when Cinna sighed and went back inside, toweling off her hair, she was dressed in clean clothes and almost felt like herself again.

 

The cabin was empty, save for the single bedroom in the entire house. It was the only room with an actual wall separating it from everything else, so when she parted the cloth separating it from the rest of the hovel, she wasn’t surprised to see Cailan laying down on the bed inside. Flemeth was sitting in the corner with a hand on her chin, thinking to herself, and Cinna all but expected her to be twirling a little moustache or something when her eyes crinkled at the sides and she shot her a sly grin. Everything about Flemeth was dangerous and cunning, and Cinna tried to remember that this bog witch with her hair hanging limp around her face was actually a fucking elven god. She could probably destroy her on the spot.

 

_Oh shit, could gods read minds?_ Cinna broke out in a cold sweat and tried mentally screaming, _just in case._

“Relax, girl, I don’t bite,” the witch chuckled. Her voice was just as deep as before, and Cinna wondered if breathing fire as a dragon had anything to do with it, or if Flemeth smoked like _fifty packs of cigarettes a day._ “For the most part.”

“Hahahaha…. Funny…” She paled as Flemeth laughed again, and started counting her exits. “Sooo…. Um, you wanted… me?”

“Want is such a strong word. I require you, perhaps. That’s better. Like a pretty sovereign or a missing sock.” Jesus Christ Flemeth wasn’t going to make this easy on her. She forgot the old woman was basically certifiably insane… or malevolent and evil? It was so hard to tell. “They do go missing so easily. I would be careful, if I were you, not to go missing either. You’d be quite hard to find.”

Fucking hell, was Flemeth threatening her? Cinna gulped.  “U-Um…. I’m s-sorry?”

“Don’t be! I’m only _joking_ ,” she laughed. The old witch rose from her chair and dusted herself off. “As far as I’m aware, I don’t see you leaving anytime soon.”

Oh. _Oh_ , like see-see? Like seeing the future seeing? Like how she _knows stuff,_ seeing? Flemeth fucking knew something about her. Cinna could _see it in her eyes._

Carefully, so as not to disturb Cailan still passed out on the bed (bless him) Cinna’s whole demander changed and she crossed the room in an instant. “What do you know about me?”

“Surprisingly, very little.” Cinna waited for her to elaborate, and eventually the witch smiled at her and did so. “What, you expect a little old lady such as myself to know everything? I’m not all-seeing. Though it is quite handy sometimes. Missing socks, and what have you.”

“Okay, I get it, about the socks—” Three weeks in Thedas and last thing Cinna wanted to do was talk in circles with the only other person who seemed to know anything. She wanted answers, damnit!! “Do you know how I got here? Is my family okay? What do you mean I won’t be leaving any time soon??”

“So many questions!” She laughed. At their rise in volume, Cailan groaned on the bed and brought a sluggish hand to his face. Flemeth and her shared a look. “Which can wait until another time. This one needs attention.”

_Damnit Cailan!_ She had been so close to some answers! Cinna scowled and crossed her arms over her chest. “....Fine. What do you want me to do?”

“Here.” She drew a finger up and pointed to a part of Cailan’s chest--a rib that had been previously broken, but now lay at an awkward angle. Duncan must’ve re-broken it when they moved him. It wasn’t like Cinna had figured out how to fuse the breaks back together again. “Fix it.”

Cinna hesitated. She didn’t really know what her stance on blood magic was. Plus, Alistair or Duran could walk in at any moment. “Uh…. Are you sure?”

The corners of Flemeth's mouth seemed perpetually curved upwards. She was just so fucking smug about everything—Cinna understood why Morrigan was always so annoyed. “Trust me, nothing you do is going to surprise an old bat like me.”

“Fine…” Cinna sighed and got to work, perching herself on the side of the bed and rolled her sleeves up. Cailan’s head was right below her as she placed her hand over his rib. She closed her eyes and visualized what is was she was supposed to be doing—she could feed the broken bone beneath her finger, and soon enough the rush of blood through his veins spread out from beneath her palm into the whole rest of his body. She focused on what passed under the break, and urged the tissue to slowly coax the bone where it should have sat. She leaned back with a pleased smile when she found it slide back into place easily. Out of the woods, it was much less stressful for her to do something like this.

“As I thought,” said Flemeth, and Cinna bristled, forgetting that she had been watched. The witch pinned her with an amused stare. “Relax, child. You look so shocked! Of course I can recognize the effect of blood magic. What I wanted to know was how you practiced it. You have a very delicate touch.”

“Oh…” Cinna looked down at her hands and let them fall into her lap. By her knee, Cailan’s head turned to the side; she tucked a long strand of blonde hair out of his face and behind his ear. “Thanks?”

“Perhaps it’s also why the blight has slowed in him. Whatever it is you did, I’d suggest continue doing. Not many people can boast that they slowed death itself.” The witched let out a throaty chuckle and tapped her chin. “Though I saw you had less luck with his back while I healed him.”

Cinna’s face fell and she looked back down at him. “I… was afraid of doing the wrong thing. There’s a lot going on in the spine… you could heal him though, right? Will he be able to walk again? Or will he… never…”

Flemeth's let out a great sigh and closed her eyes. “Never is such a strong word… don’t you think? One might say the sky will never rain cats and dogs, and yet, someday, perhaps, it might prove you wrong. I wouldn’t say he’d _never_ walk again. _Probably_ , most _definitely not?_ That sounds more like it.”

“...you’re _such_ a bitch.” Cinna covered her face with her hands and tried not to scream. Despite her vitriol, Flemeth barked out a laugh and went back to sitting in her little chair like a fucking menace to society that she always was.

“I never said I didn’t _heal him,_ ” she said, after a long fucking pause just to make Cinna feel like crap.

Instantly, she was off the bed and standing up. “How? What’s the damage? Is he okay or _not?_ ”

“I said I _healed him_. You do like to jump to conclusions, don’t you? Like a little green frog, or a field mouse.” She smiled. “No, he won't walk again. But his pain is gone, and he should be able to move around a bit. When he wakes up, someone will need to be there and remind him what he’s fighting for.”

“What he’s… _what?_ ” Cinna watched as the woman drew herself up and moved to leave the small bedroom. “Where are you going? We’re going to talk about me and what you know later, _right??_ ”

She chuckled as she let the cloth divider fall back behind her. “Yes, I suppose, if you’re going to be so _demanding_ about it. And If you’re sure you aren’t afraid of learning something you _don’t want to hear_.”

Cinna listened to the sounds of her go, and sat back down on the bed, flabbergasted, wondering the same, all the while.


	13. A King Without

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cailan wakes up in Flemeth's hut, Cinna speaks to the witch of the wilds, and both question their place in the world

Cailan woke up, but he kept his eyes closed for the longest time. It felt like he was home, or sleeping on a cloud, or maybe he was dead—but he was comfortable, and that was all that mattered. He stayed that way for a while—his head resting on something soft. His chest and back no longer hurt, it made sense if he  _ was _ dead. Honestly, after suffering for so long, he almost expected it. If Duncan and Cinna had left him behind after he passed out, he would have understood. That was the sort of thing that just needed to happen, and in all the story books and great battles he had read and heard of, it was common for the heroes to make a tragic sacrifice. And Cailan had learned, just recently, that he wasn’t the hero in his own story. 

 

He was the victim.

...maybe the idiot. 

 

_ Certainly not  _ the chivalrous and courageous knight that he had always wanted to be.

He could hear Anora’s voice in his head, telling him  _ she told him so. _ They’d had another argument before he left. He wasn’t even really supposed to be at Ostagar, but he had grown so sick of the castle, he couldn’t stand another second confined behind those cold, stone walls. It had been stifling—he had grown up closed off from the rest of the world while his father and Loghain had fought their mighty battles, but now that he had become king in a time of peace, he had nothing to do, other than sign treaties and pass laws and hear about merchants and lords squabble about  _ taxes _ .

Maker, he could hear them now along with his wife. Anora was every bit Loghain's daughter, and he had thought maybe things would go better once he took in some fresh air and witnessed some exciting battles. But no. It was a million times worse.

Honestly, dying would have been a better option. 

With a groan, Cailan opened his eyes. He blinked, just to make sure he wasn’t seeing things, and then dazedly said, “Hey.”

Cinna’s head took up his whole vision as she leaned over him, her blonde hair spilling out of her braid and over her shoulder. “ _ Hey. _ ” 

For a moment, Cailan didn’t know what to think, and he fumbled for the right words. She was strangely vexing, and so close, he could smell fresh soap and cotton. Finally, tearing his eyes away from her, he looked around the room. “…we’re not in the woods anymore?”

“We’re not, you’re right!” Her smile was as bright as the sun, and Cailan had a hard time trying to piece together a coherent thought for a moment. She had one dimple on the side of her freckled face and her eyes crinkled at the corners. “How do you feel?”

Cailan paused and took a breath—nothing hurt, besides a strange feeling in his chest. A soreness from healing, and the lingering tenderness from magic. Someone else must’ve seen to his rib fractures, because he knew Cinna wasn’t that sort of mage. She had cried about it one night and apologized to him and Duncan.

Instinctually, he moved to get out of bed and found his legs not responding. He felt his heart drop. _ Right,  _ of course.  _ Life wasn’t a fairy tale. _

There was a moment where he watched Cinna’ take in his change in expression, and he wished she didn’t look so distraught. “It could be worse.”

“It could be better,” she argued, and he at least appreciated her honesty. She was quiet for a good long while, and her hands bunched up in her cotton skirt. She looked back up at him, and he was positive she was going to burst into tears again. “Flemeth... says you probably won’t be able to…. walk again.”

_ And there it was. _ Cailan had expected something like this the moment he had first woken up, but the second opinion still stung. He blinked harshly and looked away, his eyes burning. When he spoke, he cleared his voice, but the words still came out choked. “Who… who is she then, to decide things? Is she the one who rescued us?”

Cinna nodded, and her hazel eyes were dark as she looked away. “She’s… definitely not your average mage. I’d hesitate to call her a healer, even though she took all your pain away and fixed your broken bones like nothing. She’s more of a crazy powerful witch who lives in a swamp, doing… whatever it is crazy powerful witches do. There’s nobody else in all of Thedas with her kind of abilities. If she says something might or might not happen… I’d believe her more than anyone else.”

Cailan remained silent and looked down at his hands. The blackened veins from the taint had a pinkish hue to them again, and he wondered if meeting Cinna had been a blessing or a curse.

How many men had he led to their deaths at Ostagar? How many grey wardens perished, because he wanted to escape his responsibilities? He had chased a schoolboy’s dream and paid the ultimate price. The blight would roll over Ferelden while Loghain poisoned his people’s minds.

And what of him? What kind of king was he if he couldn’t even stand up for himself? What was a king without his crown, his soldiers—what was he, alone, and laying in this bed?

He deserved this punishment. He deserved to have the taint in his veins. He deserved his line to die out and his rule to be remembered as a colossal failure, all because of his own imprudent idealism. _ It was all his fault. _

Cailan took a shuddering breath and hadn’t realized he had been silently crying until he couldn’t see anymore. Weakly, he let out a choked sort of laugh, and wiped his eyes. “S-sorry… um. Can I have a moment to myself?”

“Sure…” She seemed torn to leave though, and hesitated. Before she got up off the bed and leaned over and put her hand over his. She took a deep breath. “Listen, I know everything seems hopeless and like a nightmare right now—”

He didn’t want to hear her turn this into a positive. He closed his eyes and tried to pull away. “Cinna, I don’t—”

“No, look, listen to me,” she urged. When he opened his eyes, her shoulders were squared, and she had a determined glint to her eyes. “Duncan is already talking to Duran and Alistair about using the Warden right of conscription to fight the blight—we’re not in as bad a situation as before, and Loghain isn’t going to get away with what he did in Ostagar. People are going to ask questions.  _ Anora _ is going to ask questions. You’re not alone in this, okay?”

He didn’t want to believe her. It just felt so hopeless. So many good people, _ dead because of him— _

She squeezed his hand and brought him back to the present. “I’m not going to give up on you. And I sure as hell know Duncan and Alistair aren’t going to either. Even if we have to drag you all the way to Redcliffe ourselves.”

Cailan groaned and let out a strangled sort of laugh. His eyes were still watering, and he put his free hand over his face to keep them from spilling over. “Maker, you must be out of your mind.”

“Only in the fun way,” she said as she released his hand. She backed out into the hallway and he could hear her voice echo through the rest of the cabin despite her disappearing from his line of sight. “I’ll be out here if you need me. Don’t be too hard on yourself Cailan. It could have been a whole lot worse.”

_ Yeah, _ he agreed, as he laid his head back down on his pillow and looked up at the ceiling.  _ He could have been dead. _

And what a horrible thing that would have been.

X

She watched as Alistair, Duran and Duncan sat down around the fire that night. Morrigan groaned and set to work giving out plates and acceptable cutlery—though Cinna was pretty sure she and Flemeth had never needed a proper fork or knife in their lives. It was nice to hear her name called and see everyone want to include her, but a little something held her back as she watched them, and she found herself sitting in Flemeth's cabin, staring the ancient witch down.

 

"You certainly are persistent," the old woman laughed. Her creepy, knowing deity act was starting to grate on Cinna's nerves. Flemeth sat herself in a comfortable chair by her fireplace, stoking the flames with dry sticks and dried, aromatic herbs.

 

Part of her wondered how easy it'd be to get roofied by burning suspicious plants in the fire, and it must've shown on her face. "I think I deserve some answers after three weeks. If you know something,  _ spill. _ "

 

"Such a short time! You poor thing," she smiled, and tossed another leaf into the fire. "You've done quite well for yourself though. Most of the little people who wander into this world find themselves horribly, irrevocably lost. Tell me, why do you think you're here?"

 

Cinna opened her mouth to answer but found herself hesitating. "It was... an accident? I wasn't supposed to end up in Thedas."

 

"Perhaps. Perhaps not," Flemeth shrugged and added another leaf. It flickered in the low light, and the silver underside glittered for a moment before it caught and went up in flames. "The how is not important.  _ Why _ do you think you're here?"

 

"I don't  _ know  _ why." She sat down at a nearby table, her hands resting next to a couple bows and some twigs left on the counter. "That's why I'm asking you.  _ I'm _ not the one who knows everything."

 

"And you think I do?" Her eyes glinted something dangerous as she looked up from the fire, her mouth curved in a pointed smile. "In case you weren't aware, girl, I didn't see anyone else coming to visit my home until  _ they _ stepped away from _ you. _ The fade retreats from you like the tide. Or a snail, doused in salt. The two just don't mix. You could do anything and I'd be none the wiser."

 

"That's.... not helpful at all?" Cinna looked down at her hands. If Flemeth didn't know anything, how would she figure out a way home? She glanced at the witch, tending to her little fire, and then her focus shifted to the clutter on the table in front of her.

 

It was too tempting to knock a stick onto the ground, so she did.

 

"See that coming?" She asked, and listened to the sound of Flemeth chortling.

 

"No, you got me there!" She watched as Cinna bent down to pick the stick back up, putting it back into place with the rest. "But is it really so hard to believe you're here for a reason? Even if it is to make a mess and throw my _ rare potion ingredients _ to the ground."

 

Cinna winced and withdrew her hands from the table. "I just... don't buy that. I don't how it works here in Thedas, but I'm much more used to the idea that the universe is full of chaos and nothing really matters in the grand scheme of things, because there  _ is  _ no grand scheme."

 

"Be that as it may," said the witch, leaning forward. "You have done quite a good job in worming your way into things. I only wonder, what you intend to do now that you're here?"

 

"I... don't know? I thought maybe by talking to you, you could help me figure out a way home."

 

"And abandon what you've started?" Flemeth gestured to the back room where Cailan slept, and out towards the window where Duncan ate stew with the rest of the group. Alistair said something to Duran who laughed and punched him in the shoulder, and Morrigan rolled her eyes and slid further away from the group. "Surely a little adventure never hurt anyone?"

 

Cinna frowned and slid lower in her chair, her arms crossed over her chest. "You say that like I haven't just come out of a horrible, nightmarish battle and got shot three-- _ four times _ \--and wacked in the head."

 

Flemeth laughed, and shook her head. "Maybe. But you have done things no other person like you has ever dreamt of. Imagine what  _ else _ you could accomplish."

 

"...is this the part where I'm supposed to sell my soul to you or something? You seem way too into this," she shot back.

 

"Is that what you want?" her eyes glinted. "I could sooner kill you, in fear of you meddling in affairs you have no business in. I could kill the ones you brought along with you, but something tells me the others would not take it well."

 

"Y-yeah, you'd be right," she said, paling. she sat back up straight in her seat and let her hands fall into her lap, nervously bunched up in her skirt. "Look, I don't want any trouble. If I can't go home with the blight still happening, I at least just want to help. I'm not a fighter."

 

Flemeth rose from her spot and turned her back to the fire. There, in the dark, she stalked towards an old worn bookshelf and pulled out an old journal—dusty, and from the look of it, falling apart at the seems. The light cast a harsh shadow across her face as she crossed the room, and eventually she stood, looming above Cinna with the book in her hands.

 

"A fair bit of damage has been done before by those who only wished to help," she said cryptically. Cinna stared up at her and felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. A shiver passed through her. Flemeth's nails picked at the worn pages of the book, her thumb gliding over the stitched spine and leather cover. "I would suggest at least knowing what you're doing before going out and changing things."

 

"R-right...." Cinna gingerly took the journal in her hands. It was lighter than she had expected, with several pages already torn out and missing. When opened it she found most of it completely empty, with only a few notes here and there, littered amongst small illustrations of plants and pressed flowers. Upon closer inspection, she found she couldn't even read any of the text written inside. "What... am I supposed to do with this?"

 

"Every respectable witch needs to have a grimoire, no?" she chuckled, gliding back over to the fire. "Besides, Morrigan tells me you have a penchant for chicken scratches. They should do nicely amongst the rest of the little notes she left as a child. It's been sitting there fermenting and collecting mushrooms for years, it could do with a good trip outside. You as well as you, I hear."

 

Something about her tone gave her a weird sense of deja-vu, and Cinna bristled. She clutched the book to her chest, and let her chin rest on the edge. "So the blight takes priority over me going home, I get it. You want me to write down everything I come across? done. We can swap notes when the adventure is over, I don't care. but... if you do run across someone who looks like me, say, my sister or my dad, could you... uh, tell me? just a little heads up? I won't like, abandon everyone here and run back into the wilds if it's overrun by darkspawn, but knowing if I'm alone or not would make a huge difference."

 

"As far as I'm aware, you are alone," she said, evenly, dumping the rest of her little magic leaves into the fire. The flames spat tiny sparks into the air, glowing green and purple with the added fuel, and the smoke rose into the ceiling. Cinna could taste it on her tongue, and it reminded her oddly of fresh oranges and seaweed.

 

Flemeth could be lying, she rationalized. She had just said she couldn't foresee anything Cinna did, since she wasn’t connected to the fade, and if her family was wandering around the woods in search of her, there was no way of telling whether or not they were there.

 

_ Duncan said his scouts had found bodies. _

 

Yet the affirmation from Flemeth was a welcome thing. If she was alone, then she wouldn't have to worry about her loved ones being in danger. She could look out for herself, and figure out her place in Thedas as they fought back the blight. A year of waiting was nothing technically—she had spent a year after highschool holed up in her house basically doing just that.

 

"Okay, well, if that's it—" she turned to leave before hesitating. They still had a night left to sleep in the woods before setting out tomorrow, and she  _ did _ want to go back and check on Cailan before she went to sleep. There could still be a chance that he needed another blood transfusion, and she wanted to at least have Morrigan or Flemeth oversee just in case they had anything to say... It wasn't much, but it had her mind running, trying to pick out what she had to do in the future, and when her hand closed on the doorknob, it gave her pause.

 

Flemeth watched her from the fire pit, one silver eyebrow raised. "Something the matter?"

 

"Hey, um, so," she started, not quite sure how to word her request. She tucked the journal under her arm and fiddled with the seems hanging off of her shirt. "There's going to be... a family... when Lothering gets overrun by the blight, do you think... um.."

 

Both of Flemeth's eyebrows had risen and she patiently waited for Cinna to gather her nerve. "Yes?"

 

"I don't know what sort of person the future hero of Kirkwall is going to be, and I'm sure as hell not going to stick around and find out, but if you could..." she took a quick breath. "Make sure to save both twins for me? l-like, okay, not for  _ me _ , but for Hawke. They won't have many people left in the end. Just get there before the ogre does and everything should be fine."

 

"There seems to be a lot of ogre related casualties," Flemeth said lightly.  She sighed and shook her head, letting the fire burn low. She didn't put another log on. "I can't promise you anything, I'm afraid."

 

"Right, of course," Cinna tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and started backing her way out the door. "Thanks for hearing me out. And for the book. and for... the rest, I guess. Do you want any soup? I can, uh, get you some if you want..."

 

Flemeth chuckled and closed her eyes. "Don't worry about me. Go and join your little group. I'll be here."

 

“Right.. okay.”

 

As the door shut behind her, the last glowing embers lay in the fire pit, twinkling stars amid the dark of the fireplace. Taking each little ember, she cast her hands over the fireplace, and smothered them in a bed of ash.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> psst, I updated the intro and the tags for this story. I finally decided to quit lying to myself about the pairings lmao. For those of you wishing Cailan/Cinna could be endgame, I /am/ interested in writing an AU in which.... politics and plot don't get in the way. I'm probably the only one who wants to read it, but I dug this hole myself. It'd probably start with more of Cailan's POV, since he's always been fun writing. Still, that's not going to stop my sinful hands from writing more stupid shippy stuff. I'm so sorry. 
> 
> Carver's already at a disadvantage, but I /did/ add the slow burn tag for a reason. If I had a chance to rewrite this story again they would've met in Ostagar, but I started this fic with little else in mind other than "blood magic" "A main character absolutely horrible at staying alive" and "what would happen if a warden donated their blood?" so, theres that.


	14. My Kingdom For A Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author fixes the "how does Cailan get around?"problem in a world without wheelchairs and Cinna flexes her great aptitude for naming things.

By the next morning they had packed up everything they needed and were ready to move out. What little working armor they had was either taken or left behind. Cinna, despite still being pretty sore over being fucking shot four times and stabbed, elected to give Cailan her warden armor, just because she really didn't want to have to patch him up again.

 

That, and he was having a real bad time as they argued about how they were going to get him to Lothering.

 

"We could carry him?" said a very awkward Alistair, just a bit out of earshot of the fallen king, but close enough for Cinna to hear. "It wouldn't be that difficult."

 

"What about the darkspawn?" asked Duran, frowning. "Do we drop him the moment a fight breaks out?"

 

"That'd be... unwise," said Duncan. He ran a hand over his mouth, thinking deeply, and turned to Morrigan. "Do you have a cart we could use?"

 

"Do I look like I need a cart to travel here?" she gestured to the swamp around her. "There may be a farm up ahead not yet destroyed by the darkspawn. I suggest we go there in the meantime, lest you continue bothering me with your questions."

 

"It's like I'm not even here," sighed Cailan, watching them with a far-off look in his eyes. She and Duncan had carried him out and sat him down on a log just outside Flemeth's hut. Now, dressed in her warden blues, her chest plate sitting over the ribs she had so carefully pulled back together, Cailan hardly looked like the golden boy he started out as.

 

Sitting next to him, Cinna leaned forward and placed her head on her hand. Her journal was resting on her lap, and she wished she had been given a pen or pencil or something. "They'll figure something out."

 

And eventually, they did.

 

There was an old threshing board behind the house they used to cross the softer parts of the swamps. When Cinna's boots drowned in the mud and Duran nearly got swallowed up by the mud, Alistair and Duncan traded places dragging Cailan behind them. When the road grew tougher, they carried him, and at night when they reached the ends of the swamp, Morrigan and Cinna made camp while everyone else dug mud out of their clothes.

 

They had run into a surprising few darkspawn. Morrigan probably had something to do with that—having picked the path before them. Cinna's thoughts drifted to crow feathers and full wings as she brought a bundle of sticks to the fire. Some of the drawings in her journal were of birds a young Morrigan must've seen before her training.

 

"What's it like?" she asked, as they settled in and picked which of them would take watch. Cinna had elected to be the first, seeing how she had hung back with Cailan when they ran into any trouble. Not that she had suddenly forgotten all her survival skills once they had regrouped, but she had given all her armor away and didn't want another stab wound.

 

Morrigan stared at her for a moment, with those haunting yellow eyes of hers. She was suspicious, at first. "Why, so you can try yourself? Such complicated magic is beyond simple mages."

 

"I know that," she huffed, leaning forward towards the fire to warm her fingers. "But what's it like? the wind beneath your wings, the knowledge that you could fly anywhere... When I was a kid, I always wondered what it'd be like to turn into a bird."

 

The older mage snorted, tossing a log onto their fire. Somewhere, further into the forest, the distant call of frogs echoes throughout the swamp, and Cinna listened to their melody, waiting for the telltale snap of darkspawn nearing. "It sounds _simple_ when you put it like that. What, am I to forget all my earthly concerns once I take to the skies? Humanity is not so easily shed."

 

"Yeah, I guess." Cinna slid down on her log and let her feet creep up closer to the fire. Her boots were resting nearby, drying after so much water had soaked in, and her toes were chilly. She could hear Alistair snoring nearby and wrinkled her nose. "It sounds nice in theory though."

 

"...For children, perhaps," came Morrigan’s clipped response.

 

Cinna had expected a different answer. Maybe it was because she was a stranger—or maybe Morrigan just didn't like her.

 

They were silent by the fire for the longest time. She wasn't sure if it was a comfortable silence, or if Morrigan just didn't want to speak to her anymore. She fidgeted for a while, anxious, because her gut-instinct desire was to have people like her even if they were… rude and mean and distant… Cinna sighed, tucking her colds hands under her arms. It was a long shot anyway, getting along with Morrigan. She’d probably have a better time moving on and talking to someone else.

 

But being stuck with her, late at night, with nothing other than the creepy wilderness and lingering threat of darkspawn attack to think about was literally going to drive her insane.

 

"I grew up in the forest," Cinna said eventually, grasping for straws in trying to start a conversation. How do you break the ice after almost killing and eating someone…? "Where the trees and the ocean met."

 

"Congratulations," said the witch, completely disinterested in where this new conversation was going. "Do you want a medal?"

 

"Nah, I just miss it." She threw another stick into the fire and shivered, wishing she still had her coat. It had probably been burned, along with the rest of Ostagar. Her warden’s oath charm hung around around her neck, weighing a million pounds, and she toyed with it, fingers twisting in the chain. "I didn't think I would, since most of the time I just stayed indoors and read. Maybe in the future we could swing by the ocean—I'd take that over swimming in mud."

 

"Mother mentioned that you were foreign," Morrigan said evenly. She peered down at Cinna from her log. "If you knew anything about Ferelden beaches, you would want to avoid the ocean."

 

She failed to elaborate what that meant, but it had Cinna interested. She inched a little bit closer to her, and tilted her head. "What, do they have sea monsters or something?"

 

Morrigan's eyebrow twitched.“There are many things beyond the comprehension of common folk, what you may call a monster has its place in the world as any other,” she sighed, looking like she wanted nothing more than to end the conversation. “But think more along the lines of… giant crabs."

 

"That's so fucking cool??" she gushed, earning a very pinched expression from the witch. "How big can they get? like, two feet? past my knee? What do they _taste like?_ "

 

"Must you ask so many pointless questions?" Morrigan hissed. She snapped a twig in two and tossed it into the fire. "Why would one even want to eat something like that? No, don't answer that, I don't actually want to know."

 

The silence persisted as Morrigan now pointedly started ignoring her, but Cinna had was on a roll. "If I met a giant crab, I would try to make it my friend."

 

"UU _Uughh_ ," she groaned.

 

The distant frog song continued throughout the night, and Cinna cast her eyes up to the cloudy sky. She held her journal to her chest, and counted the seconds she would have to stay up until she had to wake up Alistair and Duncan for the morning shift.

 

"I'd name him Mr. Pinchy."

 

She could feel Morrigan judging her into infinity, so she stopped. But the image of taking a giant, man-eating crab on a walk down the beach was a nice one, and it kept her mind from worrying that night about the Darkspawn.

 

The next morning, they made it to the farm Morrigan had mentioned and found all the animals inside dead or running free. Duncan had a pinched expression on his face when he set Cailan down, and they did a sweep of the area to clear out any Darkspawn. It looked like whoever had lived there had already packed up all their things and ran the moment they heard the blight was coming.

 

The barn doors were left wide open. Flies had gotten to the dead pigs left in their stalls, and there was a slightly-off tang of the taint was in the air. She wasn't sure if the blackness in the pigs were from the blight or not, but twelve dead piglets nestled up to the body of their mother was a sad sight to behold. The blight really took _everyone_.

 

"What are you doing over here?" asked Alistair, his sword still in his hand. "Can't you sense the darkspawn?"

 

"No," she said sadly, peering into the little pen. He soon joined her, and they shared a miserable look. "I just got distracted."

 

"Understandable..." His expression was pinched. It didn't look like the barn was full of darkspawn so he sheathed his sword, sighing. "Maker, what a mess."

 

She nodded, and they set to work scavenging around the farm. Cinna found a ratty old shawl and slung it around her shoulders, along with a nice walking stick and a bag to carry her things. Not that she had many things, but now she looked the part of a forest witch when she rejoined the group.

 

"Hey, Morrigan, twinsies?" She held her arms up and earned a disgusted ' _tsk_ ' noise in response. Cinna turned to Alistair and Duran and put her hands on her hips. "Now that I look the part, I'm one step closer to turning you both into frogs."

 

"Oh, I'm so terrified," said Alistair. He shivered, and clutched his arms. "Someone stop the scary scary mage before it's too late!"

 

Duran shook his head and they moved back to the rest of the group, huddled outside the barn. "Call us when you master a simple fireball."

 

Cinna was about to make a retort about her mastering other things, but stopped because she wasn't sure how'd they respond to her being a blood mage, and then a noise gained their attention. There, harassing Duncan and Cailan, was a large, furry mass, barking up a storm.

 

"Oh, _finally_."

 

Duncan was too busy trying to calm down the Mabari to see them approach, but Cailan saw them and immediately called them over. "It won't stop licking my face! Someone call it off!"

 

Duran was the first one to get there and the first to speak. "Down boy!"

 

And the dog obeyed—leaping off of the poor king and darting towards the dwarf. Duncan let go of its collar before it could pull him over, and Cinna watched with delight as the Mabari all but knocked Duran off his feet.

 

"Do you know this dog?" Asked the warden commander, watching as the mabari licked the dirt and sweat off Duran's face with its leathery tongue.

 

"It might be the one we helped at camp?" Alistair said with wonder. The dog looked up at him and barked, and he let out an amazed laugh and pat its head. "It is!"

 

"Wonderful," said Cailan, wiping his face of dog drool. He blanched at the smell on his hands and looked down at the creature. "Whatever it's eaten in the past week must've been horribly dead. It's breath is wretched!"

 

"Not a dog person?" Cinna asked lightly, handing him one of the rags she had found inside.

 

Cailan huffed and glared up at her. "I _like_ dogs. Just not when they cover me in their lunch."

 

"Who's a good boy? who's a good boy?" Alistair gushed, pulling the mabari off Duran and into his arms. The dog's big nose wiped slime all over his face and armor, but he didn't even seem to mind. "You are!! Look at you, surviving the horde. What a braaave boooyy~!"

 

Morrigan finally caught up to them and looked down at the mess in front of her. "He's lost his mind."

 

"That's puppy love," Cinna shot back, grinning.

 

Cinna let the mabari sniff her hand as it approached, and leaned over to scratch the spot above its tail. She was thrilled to see it bark in joy and start shaking its leg. Soon enough, the giant beast was on its back and they took turns patting its belly.

 

Cinna _knew_ how to handle dogs.

 

Morrigan let out a disgusted grunt. "I take it back. You've _all_ lost your minds."

 

"What's its name?" asked Duncan eventually, watching the three of them with an amused expression.

 

Cinna and Alistair turned to the dwarf. Duran blinked. "Uhh... I didn't know I was supposed to name him?"

 

"Pleaseee, pleeeasseee, let it be Barkspawn," Cinna whined. That earned a startled laugh from Alistair, and a shared groan between everyone else who didn't appreciate her pun. Namely, Morrigan, and Cailan, who was still being grouchy. "You don't know how much this means to me."

 

"I say we name him after Cinna just to spice things up a bit—OW!" Alistair winced and rubbed his shoulder where she punched him. "Get it? Cinna, cinnamon, spicy stuff? Oh, so you're the only one allowed to make funny jokes, huh?"

 

"Yes," she sniffed, turning her nose up at him. A moment later though, she was wiping dog drool off her face like the rest of them.

 

"You did a good job surviving here on your own," said Duran, taking the Mabari's head in his hands and looking into its big brown eyes. The dog's whole behind wiggled, his phantom tail wagging with delight. "Welcome to the party."

 

"Fantastic." Morrigan rolled her eyes, and turned her head towards the end of the farmland. "What else will we be taking in along the way? a herd of deer? A darkspawn? _Ugh._ "

 

Duncan shook his head and moved past the group to stand beside Morrigan. He gestured to her left, just off the beaten path and into a grove of trees, where the shadows moved and the bushes hid dark things lurking just out of reach. "Speaking of darkspawn."

 

At the sound of trouble, they all straightened up and grabbed their things. Barkspawn (because Cinna was damn well going to call him that now, no matter what anyone else said) was also up, and his hackles raised as he came to stand beside Duran.

 

Cinna slid up next to Cailan as the rest of the group took off to go deal with the problem, now that they had been spotted, and looked down at the fallen king. "Well, at least you don't have to worry about being the favourite."

 

"Joy." Cailan watched the dog leap and tear into its enemies, sticking by the dwarf's side all the while. He groaned and let himself fall backwards in his seat, his head thumping against the barn wall. His pretty blonde hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction. "I miss him already."

 

Cinna laughed, and they waited for the party to return together. When they did, it came with another surprise. As it turned out, the farm had some living in habitants after all.   

 

“She was stuck on a branch trying to escape the farm,” said Alistair, tugging a stocky, angry-looking donkey behind him.

 

Cinna couldn’t wipe the smirk off her fade when Cailan looked at her, appalled. “Looks like you get your mighty steed after all, your _worship_.”

 

He covered his face with his hands and took a deep breath. “Please, do shut up.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i bet none of you will be able to guess what the donkey's name in the next chapter. in fact im counting on it. every day i have to wait to update is another day this joke is going to Kill Me worse than any other cliffhanger ive ever posted


	15. The Imperial Ballet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the mystery of what Cailan's donkey is called is revealed, the gang kinda-sorta makes it to lothering, and theres an impromptu dance-off

Barkspawn and Barthola-mule didn’t get along at first when they first set out. Cinna assumed it was an animal thing. Maybe Barthola-mule didn’t appreciate the amount of teeth the mabari had, or maybe the donkey was just grouchy she had to carry an even grouchier king. By the time they made camp and set out the next morning, Barthola-mule had taken a rather large bite out of Cinna’s shawl, but everyone else was squabbling around her so they didn't seem to notice.

 

"I told you to keep that mutt away from me last night and look what it did!" Morrigan gestured to her bag of herbs, slobbered over and trod on. "It'll take me weeks to replace what's inside."

 

"Don't be mean to him, he doesn't know any better," defended Alistair, putting himself between the witch and the mabari. "He's just a poor dog. He was probably just looking for a treat, since you didn't give him any last night."

 

Barkspawn barked appreciatively behind him, wagging his stump of a tail. Morrigan gave him the evil eye. "If I catch you using my bag as a chew toy, I will slow-cook you over the fire, mutt."

 

"Isn't that a bit extreme?" said Duran, trying to play the peacemaker. "I'm sure we could figure something out..."

 

"There should be a shop in Lothering to resupply," murmured Duncan, thoughtfully rubbing his hand over his chin. He had packed some of their supplies onto Barthola-mule, along with Cailan, and pulled out a half-empty canteen. "It would be good to spend as long as we can. There's no telling how quickly the horde will spread, but as long as we make good time, we can outrun it. It would be best to be prepared."

 

"Guys," Cinna whined, holding her torn shawl in her hands. She hadn't even had it for a full day, and it was in even worse shape than before. "Does anyone have a sewing needle?"

 

"I must've left it in my other pair of pants," said Alistair, rolling his eyes. He scoffed. "Who do you think you're talking to?"

 

"Why would  _ anyone _ here have a sewing needle?" Asked Cailan, mirroring his half-brother's thoughts. The way he said it was almost identical to Alistair, and for a moment, the two locked eyes.

 

Cinna waited for them to have a moment, but it never came. Instead Alistair just cleared his throat and walked further up ahead with their group.

 

Cailan watched his back for a moment, before he grumbled something under his breath and looked away. Barthola-mule shook her head and snuffled at the ground, her nostrils flaring as they walked.

 

Cinna stared at them, disappointed. "What was  _ that _ all about?"

 

Cailan shook his head and didn't seem keen on answering. It took another full minute of her pestering before he said, "It's nothing!"

 

"What do you mean nothing? That was so awkward!" she huffed. "If that's how you interact with the rest of your family, don’t bother inviting me over for the holidays, just sent me a tacky Christmas card in the mail and I'll pretend everything is fine."

 

He looked down at her, his expression pinched, like he was having trouble piecing together what the hell she just said. "Excuse me?"

 

"You know, since he's your  _ brother _ —"

 

"Keep your voice down!" he said, and Barthola-mule's head shot up at his hissing. The old mule swerved, and walked right into Cinna, throwing her off balance. She caught herself with her trusty walking stick, but only at the last second.

 

“I don’t know what the big deal is! He’s family, right? Why aren’t you talking to him?” she insisted, righting herself. Honestly, she was so glad to have a new stick to use. It wasn’t as big as her other ones, or even as threatening as the mage staff she had been given at Ostagar, but it felt right in her hands. It was just the perfect size for bonking things on the head. 

 

“It’s…. complicated,” he said, as he looked forward. Alistair must've sensed that he was being watched, since his posture was ridged and he made a very pointed effort not to turn back and look in their direction. Cailan’s face darkened a moment later. “Besides, I’ve learned… family isn’t always everything you expect them to be.” 

 

“That’s… a bit bullshit…” Cinna said, earning a sharp look from him. She winced, and rubbed the back of her neck. “I mean, yeah, right, okay, Loghain and all…”

 

She sighed. The betrayal was still fresh in everyone’s minds. Especially Cailan’s, but she didn’t exactly want it to color his and Alistair’s whole relationship. They didn’t even seem to know each other. But the fact that Alistair had family so close and couldn't even talk to him continued to bug her as they walked the rest of the way to Lothering. She knew enough about Alistair's upbringing to know that it probably bugged him too, but... talking to a king was probably a bit hard, even if he was a relative. She didn't know how to set things up for them to actually talk on an even level, so as they walked, she  continued to stare at Alistair's back and thought about how fucked his stupid family tree was. Was it so hard just to talk to one another?  _ Ugh. _

 

Royalty was such a goddamn pain.

 

They finally reached the imperial highway a little before noon, and spent lunch beneath the shade of a large buckthorn tree. Food was scarce but by Duncan's reasoning, Lothering was just another few hours travel away and they would make good time as long as nobody stopped them. Which did happen, actually, because of course nothing could go seamlessly, and they were right within jumping distance of the city too.

 

Cinna could see countless chimneys and rooftops cresting over the old stone bridge stretching across the town, and she wondered how many people knew how close the blight was. How many people would escape in time—how many people's homes would be destroyed? Somewhere, amongst the hundreds of buildings and busy streets, the hero of Kirkwall lived with their family. She wondered if it was Bethany or Carver who would end up on the chopping block this time.

 

_ Could she do anything to save them? _

"Watch it," said Alistair, eyeing the armored men hanging around the entrance to the city. They had built a small blockade using the broken parts of a wagon and other ruined crates, likely taken from refugees they had roughed up. "Highwaymen."

 

"Hey so what's the plan?" Cinna said nervously, her eyes darting to the way Duran put his hand on his sword and the way Duncan instinctually moved in front of Cailan as they approached. She didn't like the way the highway men seemed to ready themselves for a fight as well, puffing up their chests and getting into intimidating stances. "L-like, obviously we don't want trouble, right?"

 

"Of course," Duncan said evenly. His face was calm and impassive—looking at his even composure helped her nerves, since she honest to god didn't want to end up with more blood on her hands. But the way he didn't even seem to blink at the show of force was chilling in its own way. These men weren't a threat to him because he was prepared to deal with them regardless of what they did. "We handle this with as little conflict as possible, without drawing suspicion to ourselves."

 

"We're not going to tell them we're grey wardens?" Asked Alistair, who earned a single shake of the head from his commander. He fell in line with Duncan and covered Cailan's other side. Frustratingly, neither brother looked at one another. "Okay, well, be ready if they do start asking twenty questions. Duran, try convincing them to play charades instead. I'm sure they'll back off after that."

 

Morrigan made a subtle 'tsk' noise at the back of her throat and watched their party with a disapproving eye. "They're fools if they think they can get in our way. I say we teach them a lesson."

 

"Hey how about we don't do that and play nice?" Cinna nervously gripped her walking stick and tapped the ground. "They probably have families to go home to or something..."

 

"And yet they decided to rob other families of what little coin they have left," Duran pointed out. To his side, Barkspawn let out a confirming doggy huff. "These are not nice people, Cinna. Keep to the back if you have issues dealing with them."

 

"I..."

 

She wanted to argue with him, that no, this wasn't about  _ her _ —she had a problem with taking  _ any life _ if they were just minding their own business, but it occurred to her that the highway men technically weren't, and were getting away with taking anything they could from blight survivors. Something in her just recoiled at the idea of beating them up, or worse. Sure, they were criminals, and deserved punishment, but when everyone was desperate to survive, who's to say she wouldn't do the same in similar circumstances? they didn't even know anything about these people. It felt deeply wrong to just... prepare herself to kill them, when three weeks ago the largest thing she had ever killed was a fish she had caught with her dad.

 

Despite the fact that she was a scary scary blood mage, Cinna had a very large problem with killing anything with conscious thought. This didn't feel right.

 

But she let herself be moved to the back of the group.

 

Cailan paid little attention to cinna’s conflict and everyone else’s squabbling and narrowed his eyes, looking for something amongst the crowded rooftops of the city. He pursed his lips, gloved hands gently resting against the mane of Barthola-mule as she trudged forward. "Where is Arl Bryland? Surely he wouldn't let highwaymen take control of who comes and goes within his village..."

 

"Wake up gentlemen! more travellers to attend to," called the head of the highwaymen, stepping down from his perch amongst the ruined carts and crates. He smiled wide and enigmatically at Duran, heading the group, and put his hands on his hips. He chucked, looking down at the dwarf, muscly mabari at his side. "You must be the leader, greetings! welcome to Lothering. I see you're quite the well-equipped party. Run into any darkspawn?"

 

"You could say so," said Duran, his hand on the hilt of his maul. He made it look like a casual action, but the intent was there. "We've been lucky, thus far. Have there been many refugees through here?"

 

"Since the fall of Ostagar and the death of the king, I would say so."

 

Cailan perked up at that, and he ignored the sharp glance from Duncan in favor of leaning forward and gaining more information. "Wh-why would people think the king is dead?"

 

"Tern Logain said himself," shrugged the highwayman, and his men nodded in agreement around them. There were about eight of them, dressed in shoddy leather armor, but they were all decked out in crudely pointed weapons and looked like they knew how to use it. Cinna's eyes were glued on two archers perched on either sides of the bridge. The place where two arrows had gone clean through her arm burned with a phantom pain. "After the grey wardens betrayed the king's forces, the Tern put a bounty every grey warden in Ferelden. Pretty high too, since they did betray their country and all."

 

"You don't say." Duncan's voice was flat, and his expression empty as he stared down the highwaymen.

 

"W-why would the grey wardens betray the king if there's a blight to fight?" spluttered Alistair. "It's their duty!"

 

"And why would they betray me when I'm the one who organized the whole thing?" said Cailan, before he covered his face with his hands. "Maker's breath... and you believe him?"

 

"Well, he's the hero of Ferelden, it's not like he'd lie about the king," shot back the highwayman. He squinted at Cailan and cocked his head to the side, scowling. "And it's quite rude of you to go on about as if you were royalty, no? Have some respect for the dead."

 

Cinna cleared her throat and tugged on Cailan's sleeve to make him shut up before he outed himself, but it was too little too late. Cailan gave the man the most incredulous expression she had ever seen. "I'm _ not dead??? _ "

 

"Right, and you just magically escaped Ostagar unscathed," he scoffed. He shared a laugh with his buddies and jerked his chin out, looking down at him and Barthola-mule. "All I see is a pauper in stolen clothes riding a donkey because his pretty little feet hurt."

 

"Alright, that's enough," said Duncan sharply. He stepped between the two groups before anyone else said something they'd end up regretting. "Will you let us pass?"

 

"Maybe we should," said another highwayman, whispering to his friend. "They seem to look like they know their way in'a fight."

 

The other highwayman ignored him. His eyes flit between each member of their group. Cinna held his attention for the briefest moment as she clutched her walking stick, but he dismissed her faster than the rest of the party. His eyes lingered on Cailan and Duncan, and he smiled. "For thirty silvers, perhaps."

 

"Thirty silvers?!" exclaimed Alistair. "Who do you think we are? the imperial army?"

 

"That's more than the last people..." whispered the second highwayman, completely oblivious to how loud he was speaking.

 

Cailan was having a serious problem with the first highwayman's prices. "Am I supposed to believe my life is seriously worth thirty silvers?" 

 

"That's a good point!" said the leader. "Ten more silvers for the ass, and I guess another two for the one he's riding."

 

Cailan's face flushed in indignation, and he nearly fell of Barthola-mule in his anger. "I will not stand for these insults!"

 

"Looks like you can't stand at all!" goaded the highwayman. He caught the way Cinna caught and righted the king, and his eyes crinkled at the edges. His buddies let out a loud guffaw, and he shook his head. He was enjoying this. "Aw, okay, maybe I was a bit too harsh. You do seem like an okay sort—tell you what, pay us thirty five silvers, and you can go on your way."

 

"You can't expect us to have that sort of money," said Duran, staring down the highwayman with a cool expression. He and Duncan traded an understanding glance. They were fully willing to cut these men down.

 

In a way, she sort of understood. They were total jerks, and deserved to be punished.

 

But then again murdering people just because they were thieving assholes still went against her morals.

 

She saw the way the highwaymen tensed, and the way her own party did the same. The archers on the sides readied their bows, and reached back to pull their arrows. She moved between the two groups before anything could happen.

 

"H-hey, so, um," she stuttered, standing right next to the bandit and looking up at him with her big Hazel eyes. Her walking stick tapped nervously in her hands. "What would it take for you to not steal from us, or uh, fight?"

 

"Cinna what are you doing?" Alistair said nervously. "Get back before it gets serious!"

 

Morrigan eyed her from the back of the group. "I would listen to him, for once. You don't know what you're doing, girl."

 

The way the highwayman looked down at her and took a hesitant step back was almost enough to put Cinna at ease—maybe it could be resolved without violence?—but then he gave her a toothy smile, and she felt her stomach twist up in knots. Oh. oh no. That's not what she wanted at all.

 

She could hear Duran call her name, and Barkspawn start to growl. The Highwaymen scattered amongst the bridge seemed to tighten their ranks, and she felt like a cornered animal. Like a mouse surrounded by a herd of cats.

 

He put his _ hand  _ on her shoulder. It was warm. He brushed a strand of blonde hair from her face.

 

"Well," he said thoughtfully, tilting his head to the side. He looked her over a second time, and this time his eyes lingered on the curve of her face and lingered on her mouth. "Perhaps we could figure something out."

 

There was about a split second where she had her walking stick in her hands and when she heard her party move to try and intervene. For a second time, she moved before them.

 

"WAIT, I CHANGE MY MIND, FUCK THIS."

 

She wacked the leader across the face with her stick and took a step back. He staggered, reaching out to grab at her, or grab his sword or something, but she could hear her heart pounding in her ears and she acted instinctually. Her hand knocked away his before he could snatch her shawl, and the moment she made contact with him, he froze, immobile, his eyes wide.

 

His jaw worked to move and say something, but he was stuck in place.

 

Cinna kept her arm raised, mirroring him almost completely. Slowly, she lowered her arm with the walking stick. "There. T-that's not so bad now, is it? No more talking."

 

"Cinna, what did you do...?" Alistair said in awe.

 

"What's happening?" Said one of the highwaymen. He had his sword drawn and was looking worriedly over at his frozen comrade, whose eyes were darting between his friends and the witch who had immobilized him. "What is this magic?"

 

Cinna could feel the blood pumping through the highwayman's joints and muscles. She could feel the pulse of his nerves and the clump of matter controlling it all. All it took was a small amount of blood drawn with her walking stick and a bit of contact. She touched his hand, followed the nerves there up to the brain, and she could control him.  

 

How terrifying was that?

 

"Turn around," she commanded, and, to her delight, he did, and she willed him to walk across the bridge to the other side. A high pitched whine escaped the thief's throat the further he marched away, and her hold on him began to slip.

 

His friends were deeply distressed at his behavior, and kept looking between him and the woman very obviously controlling him. "W-what do we do?"

 

"Fight them?" said one of the archers, nervously. He had his bow drawn, but didn't know which one to aim at. Cinna or Duran? Duncan or Alistair? Morrigan or Cailan? what about the dog? Wait what about the dog—"Oof!"

 

"Good boy, Barkspawn!" Duran cried, watching as the mabari barrelled into the other archer and wrenched his bow from his hands.

 

"Red where the hell do you think you're going!?" cried another highwayman, running after their leader, who was now way down the bridge and teetering towards one the edges. "Come back!!"

 

"Let them pass!" Cried the leader, halfway to tears as his knees bent on their own accord and he danced closer to open air. A couple more feet, Cinna would completely lose her hold on him, but he didn't need to know that. She made him do a pirouette on one of the stone landings, and she had to give him some credit—he did it quite expertly. "Just make it stop!!"

 

"Okay, well, you heard him." Cinna gestured for her party to start moving, and waved her little walking stick in the air. The other highwaymen flinched at the sight, and they backed off. "Time to go."

 

Morrigan snorted at their expressions and gave her an approving nod as she passed. The rest of the group had less of an idea of what just happened, and Alistair was giving her a weird look, but what's done was done and they had made it into Lothering without killing anyone.

 

To Cinna, it was worth the risk of using a little blood magic.

 

Especially if it meant seeing a fully grown man execute a perfect plié and pas de chat in leather armor.

  
  



	16. Morrigan And Cinna Kill the King's Resolve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Cailan gets some more reality doses and nobody thought that leaving him alone with Morrigan and cinna was a bad idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a little while, hey! Honestly, I don't even know why I forgot about updating, I have over 100K already written. I'll remember to keep doing that now, hopefully, continuously, lmao

Alistair was still buzzing with what happened on the bridge. “Okay… that was awesome? Does anybody else think that was awesome?”

 

"It was a little awesome," Duran admitted, walking down the stone steps into the city. The streets were lined with beggars and refugees from the hinterlands as the blight pushed them out, but they couldn't stop to give what little coin they had left. "Do we have enough to buy supplies at the market? or for board?"

 

"Yeah, we have like ten silvers," muttered Alistair. "The blight didn't exactly leave time for grabbing anything important."

 

Cailan sighed and watched the people pass them by from his mule, sinking further into his depression. There were children with no shoes running past them, elven and human. Those of which stopped to look at them with disinterest and fear (which was pretty fair, since they looked like pretty thuggish) and Cinna had a sneaking suspicion that this wasn't the sight Cailan was used to seeing whenever he left his castle.

 

"There should be jobs posted at the chantry board," Duncan murmured, watching the faces they passed in the crowd. He sighed and led Barthola-mule (and Cailan, by extension) down the street. "There's no telling how soon the horde will catch up with us. If we could hire a wagon and stick to the Imperial highway, we could reach Redcliffe  in around a week."

 

"A week?" Cinna paled. How the hell did anyone survive with a travel time this long?

 

Morrigan nodded, either completely misunderstanding her or expression, or she didn't care. "Tis' a short journey, by human standards."

 

"Right, of course. You could just turn into a little birdie and fly the way there," snarked Alistair. He shook his head. "Too bad the rest of us are stuck on the ground, huh?"

 

"I could always turn you into a goose, maybe then your incessant honking would make sense," she said arily.

 

"Did you know geese have teeth on their tongues?" said Cinna, letting herself fall in place between the two before they tore each other to pieces. They both looked at her with eyebrows raised, and she shrugged. "I just think it's neat."

 

"....How did you come across this information?" asked Duran, sliding up next to her.

 

It was too good an opportunity to pass up. Cinna smiled at him. "What, you've never tried to tongue kiss a goose?"

 

"And you have?!" cried Alistair, the same moment Morrigan let out a disgusted groan.

 

Duncan sighed. "If we could focus, please."  

 

He looked like a tired parent trying to corral a herd of children. Barkspawn let out an affirmative whuff, and they made their way towards the chantry board. 

 

The street was packed with refugees and people clamoring for a job—dressed in shabby robes and faulty armor, hardly any weapons in sight. the poor man assigned to the post looked completely overwhelmed, and when he saw them approach over the crowd, he cried out "No more!! Please, I beg you, there are no more jobs!"

 

"How are we supposed to feed our children?!" shouted a man, slamming his hand on the chantry board. The papers fluttered, and the crowd carried his sentiments, and they began rocking the slab of wood, desperate for work.

 

"We have nothing left! We need jobs!"

 

"There are none left!" cried the chantry man, backing up, lest he be swallowed by the angry mob. "Come back later!"

 

"Well, you heard him," said Cinna, already turning around. Alistair caught the back of her shawl and she turned around, scowling. "You're not seriously going to harass that guy anymore, are you?"

 

Inevitably, they did. Duncan handed her the reins to Barthola-mule (and Cailan, by extension), instructing Alistair and Duran to follow him inside the chantry while she and Morrigan waited outside. It was probably for the best, seeing as Morrigan made no attempt to look less mage-ey, and... they apparently had no way of predicting what Cinna would do next. Which was fair, because she had only just accidentally propositioned a highwayman and made him do a funky little dance on top of a bridge. She happily accepted her role as the wildcard, even if it did mean they didn't want to invite her to things.

 

"...I bet the chantry sucks anyway," she sighed, leaning up against one of the posts. There were still people lingering outside, hoping the job guy would come back out, but there was only the Chanter reciting scripture whenever someone talked to him, and anyone with a brain (or ears) ignored him completely, lest they lose both. 

 

"We are all the maker's children," he spoke, and Cinna closed her eyes. “Andraste despairs for her people!”

 

She couldn't imagine living near the chantry like this for her entire life. Just hearing the dude repeat his scripture was giving her a headache. “Just... give it a rest, dude….”

 

"I just don't understand what Arl Bryland is thinking," muttered Cailan, watching the desperate and destitute outside the chantry. There were beds laid out on the bare cobblestone and people laying on the hard ground despite filth and puddles, and the looks on their faces were truly miserable. They were in all states of distress—from the tear-stricken and angry to blind and lost, the city of Lothering was being flooded by those in need, with no one to guide them.

 

"He has done what so many noblemen have done in the past," said Morrigan, her eyes gliding over the crowd, her lip curled in distaste. "The moment he heard of the incoming horde he took his men and fled. As should these people."

 

Cinna watched as an old woman helped her husband onto a nearby bench, his leg wrapped up in dirty bandages and cut off just below the knee. "I don't think they have the resources to run that far."

 

"Then they will die." She said simply. "And that is what he has sentenced them to."

 

Cailan flinched, and Cinna deeply frowned. "I don't think—"

 

"Tis most fortunate," Morrigan continued, leaning against her staff as she looked out at the crowd. "That the Arl had the privilege escaping with the help of his men. One does wonder where he would be without his people so blindly following him, caring for him... Aiding in his escape while the rest are left to the darkspawn."

 

"Arl Bryland is an honorable man..." Cailan said quietly, staring at the ground. He couldn't look at the refugees in front of him.  _ How many good men and women had been led to their deaths because of the fight at Ostagar...? _

 

Morrigan didn't even glance in his direction as she delicately picked at her nails. "You'll be surprised how little honor means in this world now that you no longer live in an ivory tower."

 

Cailan stiffened, looking down at her from his spot on Barthola-mule. "You have absolutely no right to talk to me like that—!"

 

"Of course, how could I forget. The only one with any right here is the dead man on a  _ donkey _ ." Morrigan turned her back on them and started making her way over to the closest treeline. Over her shoulder, she said, "This city is too crowded for my liking. Call me when the others finish their pointless pestering. In the meantime... "

 

Cinna watched her turn a corner into an alleyway and the next moment there was a flash of light, the barest hint of magic in the air, and then the sound of wings flapping and crow calls.

 

She sighed and nervously ran a hand through her hair, tangling in the folds of her braid. "Goddammit, it hasn't even been an hour and we've already lost Morrigan."

 

Cailan watched the place where she disappeared. "What she said, about... privilege. She's wrong, it's not like that. Arl Bryland... he knows his people are everything. He's not the kind of person who would just... needlessly sacrifice his men. That's not who he is."

 

Cinna got the feeling that they weren't  _ really _ talking about the Arl, honestly.

 

She could feel Cailan's eyes watching her as she turned to stare at the refugees. There were children crying for their missing parents and pregnant women dressed in rags, all lined up and down the street desperate for shelter. People in need of help and guidance with none to be found. 

 

"Looking at what he's done..." she said slowly because she knew Cailan wasn't going to like hearing it. "I would say his actions speak louder than his reputation of being a good person.  _ This  _ is what he'll be remembered for."

 

When she glanced back up at him, she could see that it wasn't just Cailan they were talking about; It was also Loghain. His betrayal—his choice, and Cailan's choice to fight the darkspawn and chase the fantasy of being a hero. The impact of those choices would be told by those who had to live with the consequences—by the little people who survived in the wake of those tragedies. And by those forgotten and abandoned, like those in Lothering.

 

If the Arl had stayed and fought, honestly and with honor, like Cailan had proclaimed, maybe the city would stand a chance.

 

But Cinna knew better than that. And somewhere amongst the chaos, the hero of Kirkwall would flee, and lose a part of their family. Hundreds of innocent people would perish. All because of an ugly, foolish,  _ easy _ choice.

 

Cailan looked like he had been slapped in the face, and she sighed and shook her head. "Never mind... let's just... wait until Alistair and Duran and Duncan come back out."

 

And so they did. In silence.

 

She wondered how much of their conversation got through to him.

  
  


x

  
  


"I'm just saying, you're an asshole to charge this much for clean fucking water when I could literally just go boil a _ bowl of rainwater _ in five fucking minutes for  _ zero the price! _ " Cinna seethed, looking up at the unscrupulous merchant.

 

"Do you feel that?" asked the man, holding his hand out to the sky. He blinked and looked up at the clouds. "Is that... rain? no...? Maker's breath, I can't imagine the kind of life you must be leading, being able to control the weather and all. What are you going to do next, create a mystical clay jug to hold your magic clean rainwater? what power! I'll be out of business in no time!"

 

"Shut UPPPPPPP!"

 

"Cinna I think it's time to go," said Alistair, all but dragging her away from the man before she could put her goddamn fist through his smug fucking face—

 

"Give me five more minutes Alistair," she panted, trying to throw off the ex-Templars grip on her shoulders. "I'LL TEAR HIM APART!"

 

He looked extremely pained to drag her back to the Dane's Refuge. "See, that's exactly what I'm afraid you'll end up doing."

 

The group had split up in order to complete as many jobs as they possibly could after Duncan had, allegedly, squeezed them out of the chantry brother in the most polite way possible. It may have come with letting him know about their status as grey wardens, but from the blue and white pattern on their clothing and the crest emblazoned on their armor, it was pretty easy for the town to figure it out themselves. Either they were the real deal, which they were doing a pretty good job in proving, or they had looted the armor from actual fallen grey wardens. Cinna was just fucking angry that nobody thought she was with them or thought she was a legitimate threat enough to get rid of ONE (1) bitch of a merchant.

 

Morrigan had rejoined them after they had made their way to the lower part of the town where the buildings began to spread out into farmland, and the number of refugees began to dwindle. She swooped down in her crow form and cawed at them from a post sticking out from the earth, and that was when Cinna first noticed the line of cages outside the city meant for prisoners.

 

And when she saw Sten, standing stiffly amongst them.

 

So yeah, maybe she did take the time to go yell at a merchant after they had finished their quests and dragged her reluctantly back into the city. And yeah, okay, maybe the guy was just trying to keep up with supply and demand. Maybe he had a family to feed, or the stress was getting to him and that was why he was being a piece of shit vulture, preying on the refugees.

 

But that still didn't fucking excuse his tone,  _ goddamnit, _ Cinna wasn't done insulting him and his ancestors until one or all of them cried!

 

"I was handling it, Alistair!" she huffed, listening to the sound of the tavern door shut behind her.

 

"Handle it with some surveillance," Duncan sighed, sitting by the closest table by the door. They had booked a room for the night the moment they had finished up their respective jobs—Duran had negotiated a single night's stay with the rest of the group and they had already made plans to do another round of jobs the following morning before they set out. "We can't afford any more attention on us."

 

"With the bounty on grey wardens and all that," Alistair reminded her.

 

Cinna scoffed and rearranged her shawl around her neck. She slid into the chair next to Duncan and rested her elbows on the table. "Yeah, okay, whatever. So what? it's not like the whole town can't recognize the griffon pasted onto... everything you're both wearing."

 

Alistair and Duncan looked down at their armor and then at each other. Alistair opened his mouth to argue with her. "That... maybe, but..."

 

"If we can afford something to cover it up tomorrow, it would be a wise choice," Duncan said thoughtfully. His gloved hand sat awkwardly on the table, with two of the fingers missing and failing to move along with the rest of his hand. "If worst comes to worst, there could be merchants willing to buy them for a high enough price."

 

"Are you sure?" Alistair asked, incredulous. He sat down on Duncan's other side. He tapped his chest, where the two-headed griffon rested above his heart. "We might not get the help we need without it. Besides, I doubt anyone would want to pay two shillings to dress up as king-killing, backstabbing traitors."

 

She watched him roll his eyes and let her head fall to the table, exhausted. Despite insisting on being a non-combatant, they had still dragged her on three different jobs involving poison and giant fucking spiders, traps, and potion making. On the plus side, she now had a very haphazard entry in her journal about making Poultices, but having to rip an elfroot out of the ground seconds before she was made into a  _ giant spider's  _ next meal would be forever burnt into her brain.

 

Because  _ giant fucking spiders _ existed in the first place, and she had to  _ deal _ with them.  That was already too much to deal with in one day…. and they were  _ worried _ about being recognized in Lothering?

 

_ They lived in a world with Giant. Fucking. Spiders. _

 

How did anyone live in Thedas and not want to immediately burn it and themselves to the ground?

 

"Speaking of, uh,  _ kings _ ," Alistair said eventually, clearing his throat. She could feel both of their eyes slide over to her and stare at the back of her head as she smushed her face into the table. "Did you say anything to, uh,  _ him _ today? The moment we got a room he immediately asked to be alone. With about three bottles of wine. Did you kick his puppy or something?"

 

"I dunno," Cinna muttered, turning her head towards him. She couldn't help but feel a little pang of guilt. Okay, maybe a big pang. "Why do you care so much about his happiness? do you _ care about him _ ?"

 

"Wh-what? I... n-no, I mean..." Alistair bristled and looked away from her, indignant. "I was just wondering."

 

"Cinna, there's no need to antagonize him," Duncan sighed. He leaned forward in his chair, placing his hands diplomatically in front of him. To their side, they heard the door open and close, as a new party of people entered the Inn. "Alistair is just voicing concerns the whole group has noticed."

 

"I... could go talk to him," she sighed. She was meaning to give him another checkup and transfusion anyway, but the thought of him getting wasted, alone and paralyzed in his room was not something she liked hearing.

 

It was then another person sat down at their table and smiled at them.

 

"Hey," said the man, dressed in full metal armor, clean and prepared for battle, flanked by eight other men lined up behind him. "So, I hear you're the Grey Wardens. Me and my friends here have been looking for you all day."

 

Cinna, Duncan, and Alistair looked at once another.

 

"Is that so..." Duncan said slowly. "Can we help you?"

 

The man smiled and leaned back in his chair. In the low light of the tavern, Cinna could see his companions draw their swords. "You can start by making it real easy for us to take you into custody. Tern Loghain's orders, and all that."

 

"Ah," said Cinna.

 

So speaking to Cailan would have to wait a bit.

 


	17. Rock Bottom Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a very helpful nun doesn't realize what the maker signed her up for, the king of ferelden is a hot (drunk) mess, and we all suffer the consequences :)

“Oh fuck, _ oh my god _ …” 

 

So the drawback from specializing in blood magic and only blood magic was readily fucking apparent in a crowded setting like this. Not only was Cinna effectively defenceless (since she sure as hell wasn’t going to out herself right then and there) she had no way to attack the guy swinging a giant fucking _ maul _ at her, in  _ plated metal armor.  _

 

“Have some fucking decency—strip down and face me like a man!” she yelped, dodging another one of his blows. His maul smashed into a nearby table, sending wood chips and abandoned mugs of ale flying. 

 

Alistair was busy all but wrestling one of the burlier armored jerks to the ground, and Duncan had pulled his sword out the minute the leader had kicked over their table. It was a complete mess. The barkeep was swearing and throwing croutons and rags at them, trying to get them to stop, but in no way willing to get in between them himself (for a good freaking reason) and people were screaming and shouting at them. 

 

Another two of Loghain’s guys had jumped in and were fighting dirty, prying Alistair off the first guy, when Duran came barreling down the steps to the first floor and  _ body checked them all to the ground _ —

 

Morrigan followed not soon after, and then there was electricity flying and Cinna was still trying to dodge a  _ fucking maul swung at her skull _ . 

 

“How the hell are you supposed to take us into custody when you’re trying to bash my head in?!” she screeched, her hair hanging haphazardly in front of her face as she panted and her attacker glared at her, his weapon was stuck in the floorboards. “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE!?” 

 

“IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM, TAKE IT OUTSIDE!” shouted the barkeep, but of course nobody listened to him. 

 

Thank fucking god Duncan was on top of his shit, even with a couple fingers missing, because he had his sword pressed firmly against the leaders throat. “Any last words?” 

 

“I think he’s learned his lesson,” said a ginger-haired chantry sister, stepping in between them all. Oh, of course, Leliana was here to play peacekeeper. _ Great _ . “Would it be possible to handle this without violence, please?” 

 

“S-sister, this is not your place,” argued their attacker, and Duncan’s blade held true to his throat. He swallowed heavily, sweating. His nose was bleeding, and it dripped down his chin. “O-okay! Okay, hold up…” 

 

Cinna watched the guy with the maul loosen his grip on his weapon and take a step back. She held her trusty head-wacking stick to her chest and squared her shoulders. “Y-yeah, you better fucking _ back up.” _

 

The whole affair lasted less than five minutes, thanks to Duncan’s expert reasoning skills (a-la knife to the throat) and Duran’s incredible willingness to throw himself at them again at a moment's notice. The fact that Morrigan had two fully-prepared fireballs floating in her hands as they negotiated probably sped things a lot up too. By the time everyone else in the bar was picking up their broken glasses and tipping tables back over, very little time had passed at all, and Cinna was still trying to catch her breath. 

 

“Tell Loghain the wardens know what really happened,” said Duran, brushing himself off. He had a cut on the side of his face and his knuckles were split. “Loghain left the king to die.” 

 

Cinna bristled at the man’s response, but he opened his big fat mouth anyway. “I was there. The wardens led the king to his death! The Tern could do nothing!” 

 

“Did you ride here on a cow?” she asked, brandishing her little walking stick and threatening to hit him with it. “Because that's such a load of bullshit you must've _ carted it in from somewhere _ —” 

 

“If you could be so kind,” Duncan began, calmly setting his sword back into its sheath. “I would appreciate it if you could send your leader a message. From me to him.” 

 

The man stiffened, looking between the two of them. By all accounts, she looked like someone’s sassy, lost child on her way to grandmother’s house, and Duncan looked like her very tired parental guardian. Dressed in grey warden armor, naturally. 

 

“And you would be?”

 

“The warden commander,” Duncan said, giving him a stiff, yet amicable smile. The room was silent, staring, all eyes on them, and what he said next. “Tell Loghain that he _ failed _ , in  _ every way  _ possible.” 

 

“R-right, okay,” grunted Loghain’s follower, shuffling backwards towards the door. Duncan let the rest of his men follow suit, and the sound of glass crunching under their heavily armored feet followed them out the door. 

 

Leliana watched them go with a slight smile on her face, before she turned to them. “I apologize for interfering, but I couldn’t just stand by and not help.” 

 

“I appreciate it, sister.” Duncan nodded, watching as Duran and Cinna helped Alistair to his feet. The young warden was sporting two black eyes, and clutched his stomach in an awkward way that didn’t look healthy _ at all _ . “If you hadn’t, no doubt things would have escalated.” 

 

“Is he going to be alright?” she asked, frowning at the way he swayed as they tried to get him to stand up. 

 

Cinna basically held Alistair's full weight on her shoulders as he slumped over—Duran was of little help, being so short and all. “I-it’s fine, he’ll be fine, I just—!” 

 

“There we go,” said the sister, taking Alistair’s other side. She looped his arm over her shoulder and gestured for them to take the stairs. “Where to?” 

 

Cinna glanced at Duncan and Duran, hovering right behind them and sighed. “Second door on the right. We can talk on the way... “ 

 

So, Leliana gave them the quick version of her ‘ _ the maker told me to come with you _ ’ story on their climb up the stairs. Duncan and Duran glanced at each other, not quite believing any of it, as Cinna all but  _ dragged  _ Alistair’s broken body into their room and dumped him inside. There were three beds waiting for them but they went for the middle one, since the first was taken up by Cailan, who was  _ plastered, _ which was  _ fantastic, _ because the night could not have gotten any better. What complete  _ fucking mess.  _

 

“Where the hell is—” Cinna panted, letting Alistair fall onto the bed with a heavy thump. He let out a pained groan, and her stress levels skyrocketed. Both his eyes were black and swollen and he looked part raccoon at this point. The adrenaline was fading from her now, and a nerve jumped in her throat.“—fucking Morrigan!” 

 

“Downstairs,” said Duran, who stood uselessly by the door. “Do you want me to get her?” 

 

“Do I  _ want you to get her? _ ” she mocked, completely throwing her manners out the window for the moment. Alistair was turning into a _ grapefruit.  _ “Is she entertaining the people downstairs and doing magic tricks for them? juggling her little fire balls? Pulling a rabbit out of hat--? YES of course I want her, why _ the hell _ isn't she up here NOW?” 

 

“Okay! Fine,  _ jeez, _ I’ll go.” Duran immediately turned and ran back downstairs, shutting the door behind him.

 

Leliana was standing awkwardly a few feet away. “Did you really need to raise your voice like that? He was only trying to help.” 

 

“HELP me by getting this armor off him,” Cinna grunted, turning to Alistair, who had fucking… fucking just passed out. Great, just what she needed.  _ God,  _ if he had internal bleeding and he died she’d burn this whole tavern to the ground. 

 

Leliana pursed her lips and said nothing, doing what she was told. _ Finally, _ someone she could actually rely on.  _ Thank the fucking skies above.  _

 

“That… that is so much more… funny now that I'm not on the receiving end,” Cailan laughed, hiccuping slightly as he rolled an empty bottle on his bedspread. Either he or someone else had pulled the blankets over his legs and all but tucked him in, so he looked like quite the smug, comfy bitch. 

 

“Shut the fuck up and stay in your corner, Cailan,” she said between grit teeth. Off came Alistair’s breastplate and it fell to the floor. 

 

“Ohh, what are you going to do?” he asked, quite pleased with himself and his two empty bottles of… whatever the hell he had somehow snuck into his room. It smelled like spoiled grapes and rubbing alcohol. “Come… come on. I can take it. Give me your best shot.” 

 

“Cailan,” she said, rising to look at him. Her hands were on Alistair’s chest and she could feel the blood pooling under his broken bones. She honest to god did not need a distraction right now. “Now is not the time.” 

 

“I am… The  _ King of Ferelden _ , thank you,” he shot back, his face flushed and his eyes wide. Somewhere off to the side sister Leliana gasped and stood up straighter. “People make time for me!” 

 

“OH, _ I’m _ sorry!” she said, making a wide sweeping gesture to Alistair passed out on the bed. “I’m trying to keep your estranged half brother alive, so if you could MAYBE put pause in whatever—” she gestured to all of him, and the bed, and the bottles of booze. “—THIS is, until I’m done, I’m sure everyone will be _ fucking thankful _ .” 

 

Cailan was silent for a long while, staring at her. 

 

“I’m sorry, perhaps…” Leliana started, easing her way to the door. “Some privacy, between you three, would be appreciated. I apologize for the intrusion…” 

 

“No, Leliana wait...” she said weakly, watching the sister quickly walk by her. She saw the door open and shut, and the barest hint of Duncan intervening before Leliana could fully leave downstairs, before she turned her attention back to what was in front of her.  

 

It took all but two seconds to reset Alistair's ribs back in place. She pulled a health poultice out of her bag and forced the liquid down his throat. 

 

“That was quick,” said Cailan, watching her struggle to lift Alistair higher onto the bed and give up a moment later. 

 

“I had a lot of fucking practice,” she shot back, glaring at him. She crossed the distance between the two beds and started collecting empty bottles. “Jesus christ, how much of our money did you waste on cheap booze?” 

 

“It wasn’t cheap,” he argued, for completely the wrong reasons. His face was like a goddamn tomato up close and his skin was clammy, his hair sticking up in odd angles. He held the last bottle away from her grasp, and just the last bits of it remained—dark brown liquid sloshing as he kept a steady grip. Honestly he could've been drinking mud and it wouldn't have looked any different. “I think I deserve this, you’ve been quite… quite… very mean to me. You’re not a very nice person, you know that?” 

 

“Spare me the details,” she said, walking across the room and dumping two... three bottles into a nearby wicker chair. Far enough away from pompous royal jackasses to reach. She approached the other side of the bed and held her hand out for the last bottle. “Give it to me.” 

 

“Hm, I’m thinking…” he passed the bottle to his other hand and held it as far away from her as possible. “The king decrees… no.” 

 

“You are such a piece of shit,” she huffed, and leaned over to grab it. “Give it to me!” 

 

“No!” he laughed, holding it away even further, so she had to crawl onto the bed. “This is mine!” 

 

“This isn’t how you cope with things!” she argued back, her hand enclosing on the bottom of the bottle. 

 

“And how do you suppose I cope?” He shot back, and now she was properly kneeling on the bed and glaring at him while he was glaring at her and they both had their arms in the air like a couple of idiots. His face was flushed with anger and his breaths came at an unsteady pace. “How do  _ you think  _ I should cope with things, since apparently  _ you know what’s best _ .” 

 

“That’s not what I meant,” she said flatly. “Cailan, you’re  _ drunk. _ ” 

 

He was looking at her again with that same fixating, unreadable expression. Honestly, she missed the way he used to look before this all happened--back when he was a happy, idiotic doofus who reminded her a puppy, or a ball of sunshine. This was just… sad. And kind of pathetic. 

 

She wrinkled her nose and pried his fingers off of the bottle. She was surprised to find that he let it happen. “...and your breath  _ stinks _ .” 

 

He laughed, and it was scandalized and slightly shocked, but honestly he should have seen it coming, because Cinna was,  _ if anything _ , honest no matter what. Bullshit noble status included. 

 

“Y-you know,” he said, as his hand gripped her free one and his clammy fingers delicately touched the inside of her wrist. “I have never… met anyone like you before.” 

 

It occurred to her how much of a compromised situation she had put herself in, what with the leaning and being on the same bed as him and being that close—and god... damn it all. What the hell was happening? Was he _coming onto her?_ _Jesus christ, he was supposed to be married--to the queen of fucking Ferelden no less!_

 

She leaned back, trying to pry her fingers out of his without hurting his feelings. “...You should try meeting more people.”

 

And it was then that Morrigan finally broke down the door, and she fell backwards off the bed and onto the ground. 

 

“What’s going on in here?” the witch asked, one eyebrow raised. 

 

Cinna all but wept at her feet. “Nothing, not a damn thing. You have no idea how happy I am to see you.” 

 

And then that feeling was so woefully squashed by Alistair waking up, and then Cailan getting a horrible case of drunk puking. And the night was long and painful. 

 

Because of course, as all things often did, Cinna’s night was wrought with her own justly deserved suffering. 

 


	18. Cinna, Age 19...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cinna learns to count to three and forgets her ABC's

 

“Okay, just—” Cinna leaned back and winced as Cailan puked into the bucket she had given him. “—are you proud of yourself now? Was it fucking worth it?” 

 

“Uuughh…” He closed his eyes and hug his head. “I don’t… feel that great…” 

 

“Oh, really? You wanna know why?” she leaned in close and kept her words nice and loud, despite his developing headache. “You somehow managed to steal four bottles of wine downstairs without anyone knowing! And without legs! How does that even happen Cailan!?” 

 

Cailan groaned and retched again, and she closed her eyes and tried not to be sick herself. 

 

“Though I gotta hand it to you. The barkeep wouldn't even sell me a single glass because he thought I was twelve years old. Who the hell did you even get to pull this off?” 

 

“It… was my fault,” said Duran, sighing greatly. He hung his head like he was a kid caught with his hand in a cookie jar instead of actually legitimately responsible for giving the king of Ferelden alcohol poisoning. “I didn’t think he would drink it all in one go.” 

 

“OH! Well, congratulations,” Cinna said over the sound of more heaving. Her hand was on Cailan’s shoulder to keep him upright and the whole room stank of stomach acid and horrible, horrible regrets. “You sure did a bang-up job. When Loghain sends more men to kill us I bet they’ll throw you a fucking party when they find out you already off’d the king for them. Got that nicely checked off their to-do list. Good fucking job, mate.” 

 

Duran scoffed and shook his head. He actually looked legitimately pissed, but let out a short breath through his nose and counted to three in his head before he spoke. Like a goddamn adult. “Right, okay, my bad. Is there anything I can do to make things easier on you?” 

 

Cinna could feel her temper starting to cool. Okay, maybe getting angry at the other fucking royal wasn’t a good idea. Duran was actually kind of her friend, she had to stop lashing out at people. “Just… get me another bucket. And some towels.” 

 

She watched him leave as Cailan groaned and sat down on the bed with her head in her hands. God, why was she like this? why did she have to be such an asshole in times of stress?

 

Across from them Alistair whined and his hand came up to rest on his stomach as he slowly opened his eyes. His voice came out in a low croak, and she was already on her feet. "D...did we win?"

 

She looked down at him with an empty, tired expression. "Take a wild guess."

 

"I'm alive, aren't... I?" He wheezed, and the one black eye that he had left (thanks to Morrigan for healing the other one, before she got tired) fought to stay open. "That's... a good thing, I think."

 

Cailan retched again and she clenched her fists by her side and counted to five, just so she wouldn't fucking lose it. "Yeah...celebrate that, I guess. Lay your head back down."

 

Duncan came into the room a moment later and gave them a play-by play of what happened downstairs after the bartender had tried to throw them all out. Obviously, troublemakers weren't allowed to stay, but Duncan had smoothed things over by letting slip who they were and what kind of people they were harboring upstairs. It was what was necessary at the time, since money couldn't bribe the man to let them stay, but after Duncan had all but dragged him into a back room and explained, very nicely, they were allowed to hunker down for the night and that was it. In the morning they would have to leave, and though the warden commander had made the man swear not to tell who they had with them, he was sure it'd slip out eventually and they'd have to bolt. But looking at the hero-king puke his guts out in bed after barely holding his liquor, Cinna had a hard time believing they'd be mobbed the next morning or something. Without his shiny gold jackass armor, he just looked like some... really sad dude.  A lot like Alistair, actually, now that both Theirins were passed the fuck out and miserable as hell.

 

Cinna sighed and sat down on the floor between the estranged brothers. The floor was dirty and unwashed, since it was a tavern, but she was honestly too exhausted to really care. She nodded off a bit, when Cailan started feeling a bit better, and caught someone swapping out his bucket for a fresh one before her head slumped back. 

 

When she opened her eyes, the room was dark, save for a candle in one corner of the room, where Duncan sat and took the night watch. He nodded to her, lowering a scrap of parchment he had been reading, and smiled slightly. It was only after she moved to re-adjust her sore back that she realized someone had draped a blanket over her and a pillow sat in her lap. She looked around, and saw that Duran had taken the last spare bed, and was uncomfortably laying on it without anything to keep him warm.

 

"He felt quite guilty for setting you off today," Duncan noted, inkling his head. He had that weird dad-glint in his eye that seemed to fix Cinna to the spot and make her feel like a child. "And for what happened with Cailan. Though, he's fallen asleep and no longer sick, so I would consider it only a minor infraction on Ser Aeducan's behalf."

 

Cinna felt like the shittiest person alive for snapping at him. Her face burnt with shame. "R-right... Um, when did he go to sleep?"

 

"About an hour ago. He said he wanted to stay up and properly apologize, but after the events of today, I don't blame him for being tired." Right, yeah, he had kind of body checked two full grown humans off of Alistair, after earning them all the coin they needed to spend the night indoors.

 

God, she was such a bitch.

 

Cinna rubbed at her eyes and stifled a yawn. She rose, unsteadily, and looked around the room. "Where's Morrigan and Leliana?"

 

"In the other room. They thought it best to let you rest." Which was probably code for 'we didn't want to poke the sleeping bear'. Cinna sighed. She had probably made a piss-poor first impression on the chantry sister, right? Just  _ great _ .

 

"Leliana can take my cot," she sighed, grabbing the blankets draped on her and the pillow. she trudged over to Duran's mostly empty bed.

 

There was a nice amount of leg space for her to take up, and Barkspawn opened one eye and watched her from the end of the bed. She tossed the pillow so it landed on Duran's face and let most of the blanket fall on him as she made herself comfortable. It wasn't a horrible sleeping situation—she already had her shawl and skirt to keep her warm anyway, and it was better than sleeping on the ground. Her head was by the end of the bed and her feet closest to Duran, so it wasn't like she was really sleeping next to him or anything. They still had about enough space between them for Barkspawn if the mabari wanted to join them at any point, and she made herself comfortable.

 

She saw the barest hint of Duncan smiling at her before he turned back to his scroll. "Goodnight, Cinna. May the maker watch over your dreams."

 

She rested her head on her elbow and stared at the wall for quite a long time. Hopefully in the morning she could make it up to everyone, and not make her snapping a recurring problem. "...Goodnight, Duncan."

 

If Thedas was turning her into a meaner person, where would she be once a year was up? Would she be able to recognize herself at all?

 

x

 

The maker didn't have anything to do with her dreams when she woke up. Cinna wasn't much of a dreamer to begin with, and she hadn't been getting any funky visions of the fade since she kinda-maybe-sorta became a grey warden, so when she opened her eyes slightly disoriented but well-rested. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary.

 

What  _ was _ out of the ordinary was that Duran kicked her in the ass the moment she shifted the bed and accidentally woke him up.

 

" _ WHO- _ ?!"

 

Cinna rolled onto the floor and landed with a completely ungraceful heap onto Barkspawn, who yelped, jumped to his feet, and then crashed into Alistair's bed. He, in turn,  _ also  _ woke up, and then groaned so loudly he sounded like a dying whale. Which... Cailan and Duncan had been snoozing, but it was safe to say now they weren't.

 

"FUCK!" Cinna rubbed her sore backside with her hand as she pulled herself into a sitting position, glaring up at the dwarf. "Ow??"

 

"S-sorry?" he said, disoriented. His dark eyes were wide and slightly unfocused, as if he had no idea what he just did but apologized anyway.

 

"W-what's going on?" wheezed Alistair, struggling to sit up.

 

Cailan blinked and watched her rub the sleep out of her eyes, still staring up at Duran. He was the slowest to wake up, and looked like absolute shit. "...why are you on the floor?"

 

"I dunno, why do I have a foot impression in my back?" She snapped, before she heard the tone of her own voice and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to drive her friends away and do a repeat of last night, right? Cinna counted to three in her head and unsteadily got to her feet. "It's... fine. Don't worry about it."

 

"Are you okay?" asked Duncan, still sitting in his chair from last night. He seemed to have only dozed off a moment ago, because his candle was still slightly melty and his parchment was resting nearby.

 

“Y-yeah..” Cinna rubbed her back and nodded, turning her attention back to Duran. "Hey, um… Sorry... for snapping at you last night. You didn't deserve it."

 

He looked up at her for a moment, not quite sure what to say. "It... happens. It's alright. I shouldn't have given Cailan anything to drink."

 

Cailan raised an eyebrow and glanced between the two of them. "Do I not have a say in any of this?"

 

"No," they both said at once, and looked at once another. 

 

“He’s banned from alcohol, right?” asked Cinna. She honestly did not want a repeat of last night. 

 

Duran nodded, one corner of his mouth turned upwards. “Absolutely.” 

 

Okay, maybe things would be okay after all.

 

Leliana wasn't in her bed when Cinna crept into the room. It was still morning, so she expected some people to still be asleep, but when she expected to see Morrigan sleeping in one of the beds she found the mage already awake and dressed to leave.

 

"I trust your adventures sleeping with the men went better than mine did?" she asked, and  _ wow _ , the way she phrased that could have been a  _ whole lot _ better.

 

Cinna held her breath and counted to three in her head. "O-okay, one: I think I'd rather die than... do any of that. With any of them. Ever. Two: what happened with you and Leliana?"

 

Morrigan turned her head and didn't seem to want to talk about it. "If we are to travel together, I should hope for her sake that she keeps her distance."

 

Right. okay. So they were probably going to be volatile if left together. Nice to know. Cinna would probably have to play the neutral party and get between them if worst come to worst. She severely hoped that it wasn't anything religion related, since that would put them at odds from the beginning, but knowing the kind of person the sister was, she didn't have very high hopes.

 

They set out for the market before all their things were packed up and ready to leave. Cinna wanted to make another round for the chantry and kept her eyes locked on the gate leading out to the city, where the prison cages were kept, but she kept her mouth silent. That was where they found Leliana again, packing up her things and speaking to the sisters inside. Morrigan immediately ditched their party in favor of turning to the skies, but at least Duran went with her this time, and she entered the musty old building with Alistair on her heels.

 

"You never really forget the way these places feel, even after leaving," the ex-Templar muttered, his eyes cast up to the high ceilings and smoke wafting through the pillars.

 

Cinna watched at the morning light streamed through the windows and did strange things to the incense and candle smoke swirling in the air. "Believe it or not, this is my first time in a church."

 

"That so?" He raised an eyebrow at her. "I figured you were the kind to spend all your time in one. Since you said you liked to read so much."

 

It made sense that he thought that—chantries and churches were like, the main place to find scripture and literature, right? since so much of what they did was recording history, a lot of what they housed was old texts and stuff from hundreds of years ago. She wouldn't be surprised if a majority of people's education came from studying under the chantry, which would explain how so many people were deeply devout. If the chantry held monopoly on Thedas's information, it was easy to skew the public opinion in their favor and control what they thought. It was all in the books they decided were worth keeping, and worth sharing with the public.

 

Her footsteps echoed down the wide, empty pews as they made their way towards Leliana, arguing with a clergyman. She wondered how hard it was to attain the privilege to just get an ordinary book from here and read it out in the open. "Thankfully my education was less... based in prayer and more on academics."

 

Alistair pursed his lips and sighed. "Maker, I wonder what that must've been like. What, no drinking communion wine for breakfast lunch and dinner or speaking the chant of light thirty times a day?"

 

Cinna paled and looked up at him. "Please tell me you're joking."

 

"What, me? never."

 

Leliana was fumbling with a bag just on her way out when she spotted them. "Ah! I hope you are not yet leaving without me."

 

"Wouldn't dream of it," replied Alistair. "Though I'm sure Morrigan is already on her little broomstick flying halfway to Denerim by now. You two get up to anything while I was busy dying?"

 

She looked awkwardly shook her head. The corner of a large book was sticking out of her pack, and she struggled for a moment trying to get it to sit right. "N-no... It was nothing, I apologize for making you worry. I just wanted to speak to Brother Fontaine and say my goodbyes before I left."

 

"Sounds like a good idea," Cinna nodded, giving the clergyman a once-over before they turned to leave. Leliana was still fumbling with the book so she held out her hand. "Mind if I carry that for you?"

 

"Oh! Thank you," she said, passing it over.

 

The cover was old and word from years of hands touching it, but the cover held strong and felt more like a large plank of wood rather than a mysterious chantry book. Cinna turned it over in her hands and couldn't make out the text on the front, her fingers tracing over gold lettering. She briefly registered being led outside.

 

"...what does it say?" Cinna eventually asked, the fresh morning air biting at her nose as they began their walk back to the tavern. It was still early enough outside that the skies were violet and the usual refugees lining the streets had vacated and gone somewhere warmer for the night.

 

"It's a medical book. It says so right there," Alistair pointed. It didn't make the text any more legible. "Can't you read?"

 

"Apparently not," she muttered, flipping open page. She could feel Leliana's eyes on her as she tried to make sense of what the text said. It was no use- it was all Latin to her. Or gibberish. It could have been anything, really, because it looked like the incomprehensible scribblings that Morrigan had left in her journal, except these were much more finely printed.

 

Did Thedas... have a different alphabet than she was used to?

 

"Oh my god, I can't read?" she said, letting the book fall shut. Both Alistair and Leliana stopped and turned to look at her.

 

"What do you mean you can't read? How did you go to school and completely not learn how to  _ read? _ " Alistair said incredulously.

 

Leliana was looking at her with an expression of shock mixed with pity. "Are you alright? I had no idea... I thought perhaps a medical book such as this would be useful to you..."

 

And oh, now she felt like an idiot  _ and  _ an asshole for dashing Leliana's hopes like that. She had taken an important looking book on healing from the chantry just to be nice and Cinna couldn't even fucking read any of it?  _ UUUGHHH _ .

 

Nevertheless, the chantry sister put a reassuring hand on her back and guided her towards the tavern, nodding to herself. "We can help you understand it as we travel, no? If we have the time of course."

 

Hoped dashed, and feeling deeply cheated, because  _ what the hell _ , if she could talk the language why couldn't she read it? Cinna clutched the book to her chest and let herself be taken away. "Right, yeah, sounds good..."

 

Because of course, Thedas  _ had  _ to throw her another fucking curveball.

  
  



	19. Transfusing Confusing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Cinna suffers one of the downsides to blood magic and we move closer to an even larger cast of characters for the author the juggle

They hired a wagon to take them to Redcliffe that afternoon. It was an easy transaction- Duncan handled most of the talking and Duran was able to lower the cost until they were satisfied. It required another day's worth of working in Lothering than they wanted, but with Cailan to think about, having an extra pair of hands and something other than Barthola-mule to carry him was a welcome addition.

 

Cailan's health had deteriorated through the day when they checked up on him, to the point where Cinna and Morrigan had to take shifts looking after him. It was something to do with the alcohol—it wasn't  _ poisoned _ —they had all made sure of that the moment they realized his hangover wasn't going away, and his symptoms increased. It was in the blood; the taint. Alcohol was a blood thinner, and Cinna's current theory was that it was making it harder for her antibodies to fight the blight somehow. Which meant she had to keep giving him  _ more _ —because that was all she really could do since she didn't have an all-out cure. After Morrigan had thrown up her hands and given up, Cinna sat through the morning and lunch slowly, arduously, drew the infected blood out of him.

 

"Owch!" He winced, jerking his wrist away from her. His eyes were watery and bloodshot from a poor night's sleep, but they didn't have the tell-tale milkiness to them that typical blight victims had. Which meant that he wasn't that far gone.  _ Yet _ . "Are you trying to make this hurt on purpose?"

 

"If I don't rip it out in one go, I might lose my hold on it," she sniffed, hovering the blighted blood globlet in her hand. There was a bucket of water by her feet where she discarded it, and the blackened ilk floated amongst the top like oil when she dropped it in. They had done maybe four, five bleedings, and every time she carefully tried to detach the taint from his system it seemed to hurt more and more. "Better to get it over with than let it sit and grow again."

 

Cailan sighed and let his head fall back onto his pillow. His fever had gone down from the morning, which was a good sign. But the way in which she had to keep drawing the blight out of him and giving her own blood made it feel like a losing battle. Like rolling a stone up a hill—they were making good progress, and Cailan sure as hell would have died a long time ago with conventional methods, but Cinna burned for a more permanent solution. She kept writing down her observations in the journal Flemeth had given her, and Cailan had already filled up four full pages.

 

If she wanted to properly deal with the blight in him, she would need a better method of healing him that didn't require her to give up her own fluids. She'd need a donor; someone who was the same blood type as him, who was healthy and had an immunity to the blight. Or at the very least, a  _ resistance  _ to it. But even then, she could make do with just having a regular donor while she replenished her own supply. Honestly, Cinna would take  _ anything  _ at this point.

 

Morrigan had watched her as she transfused own blood, interested in the process and the reasoning behind it. Cinna had given her the same explanation she had given to Duncan and Cailan, and she was surprised to find how easily the witch caught on. She suggested several different kinds of plants to treat Cailan's symptoms in-between transfusions and even a tonic or two for helping Cinna with the weakness associated with giving away too much blood.

 

Because god, it fucking sucked to be that lethargic all the time.

 

"Watch your step." Morrigan grabbed Cinna's arm a second before she ended up falling over her feet, and the witch helped her back up. She scowled, looking down at her. "Be thankful we're not on the road yet, you can barely stand."

 

"Y-yeah... I just... I will…. be more careful," she nodded, though it did weird things to her head. It wasn't full-blown yet, but she could feel a headache coming, along with her shitty dizziness problems.

 

Morrigan looked slightly annoyed with how out of it she was. Like she didn't agree with the idea of Cinna literally giving up parts of herself to heal Cailan, but she kept her mouth shut because it was interesting to see the results of her work. "I'd advise going downstairs and eating. The dwarf and the zealot are already down there. I wouldn't keep them waiting."

 

"Shit... ugh, I forgot I said I'd help them, with—-" Cinna wracked her rain for what they actually needed help doing as she leaned on the doorframe. Honestly, she could have gone for a good long nap, and her knees mirrored that sentiment, nearly giving out right then and there. "—potions. Or something."

 

Morrigan raised a slender dark eyebrow as she moved in and took over where Cinna left off. With her staff in hand, it took a simple hand wave and the incision in Cailan's wrist healed up, leaving nothing but a clean, pink scar.

 

Cinna tried not to let her jealousy show. How easy would her life be if she could heal like that? She'd probably still have nice, unblemished shoulders… no arrow scars in sight...

 

Ugh. Whatever, the fade sucked. It wasn't like she wanted to do any cool shit anyway.

 

Barkspawn snuffled her hand when she finally stumbled downstairs, and his ears pinned back and he whined when he caught the scent of blood and the blight. She scratched him behind the ears and made her way to a bucket of water the owner left out for hand washing. "S'okay, boy. It's not me who's ill."

 

"Are you quite sure?" Asked a very worried Leliana, getting up from her chair next to Duran. She took in Cinna's clammy, pale skin and shaking hands. "Perhaps you should sit down..."

 

"I'm f-fine," she argued, though she let the chantry sister hide her to a chair. She didn't quite expect to nearly fall into the table, but she righted herself at the last moment and groaned. God, okay, maybe she had overdone it a bit. But Cailan had overdone to  _ first _ , and he was on a perpetual sober streak now, so it wasn't like she'd have to draw so much from herself a second time. "Okay... maybe just... five minutes I can sit..."

 

"Do you need anything?" Duran was looking a bit guilty, but she didn't hold it against him and let her head fall to the table.

 

"Fffood, mmmaybe...." she muttered, her eyes heavy. She didn't close them completely, since that'd be, uh, bad, considering she was suffering from blood loss. She definitely did not want to go walking into the light anytime soon, so she just traced the grooves in the table and listened to the sound of other people chatting in the bar to keep herself distracted.

 

Cinna had a full headache by the time he finally set down some food in front of her. Time was an illusion-all she felt was the rhythmic pulsing of her heartbeat and her headache, and for a few  _ stupid _ moments she wondered if she could manipulate the blood in her brain to stop pounding before it dawned on her how horrible that idea was, and she sat up. The place was packed with refugees and customers, and the volume made her wince and hunch over her bowl. Cinna wasn't even really that hungry, honestly. She just felt foggy and gross. 

 

Ugh... it just didn't look at  _ all _ appetizing. But she took a couple bites anyway because that was probably just the nausea messing with her.

 

Still, she would have killed for a can of pop or a doughnut or something.

 

"...can I have an orange? A fruit? Something sweet?" She asked, halfway through her meal and not at all happy with it. For a brief, intense moment she like puking, and Cinna glared at her plate with distaste.

 

"How rich do you think we are?" Duran shared a glance with Leliana. "You almost got into a fistfight with a merchant for the price of water. Take a second and try to imagine what they'd charge for fruit."

 

"With all the refugees, food has been quite hard to come by," Leliana nodded, her eyes carefully watching the rest of the patrons in the bar. She probably knew most of them, being a local and all. "The maker has been kind to this place- as far as I'm aware, the owner has kept a stockpile in preparation for disasters such as this."

 

And It still wouldn't make a difference for when the horde rolled on in. Some kindness.

 

Cinna took another look at her meal and pushed around a lumpy piece of potato. She looked up at the menu hanging over the counter and squinted to try and make out what the words meant, but couldn't understand a thing. "So... how much did this food cost us?"

 

Duran shook his head and sighed. "Don't ask. Just eat."

 

"Greaaaaat...." She ripped part of her bread roll and dunked it in the broth, hoping it would soak up the taste of pig fat and over-cooked vegetables. Was that a piece of cabbage? in her stew? Ferelden was trying to kill her.

 

"Okay, so I was thinking..."

 

Duran went on a bit about their latest job, which involved more fighting than Cinna would ever be comfortable with and more giant spiders, and she tuned out the rest. Leliana listened intently, perhaps because she wanted to be cooperative and make a good impression and maybe also because she really didn't want to get left in the pub with Morrigan again, but nevertheless, the two of them talked above Cinna for a long amount of time while she... poked her food and tried to down it all. The pub doors opened and closed several times with new customers, some dressed in rags and some in armor, but thankfully none of Loghain's men returned. Which was good, because she was in no state to be fighting anyone, even spiders, so when Duran brought up Cinna’s role in the plan she was incredibly relieved.

 

"...which is why I think we need to free the prisoner outside the gates."

 

"Finally," she groaned, her mouth half-full of bread and poisoned gruel.

 

Leliana was less than convinced. She nervously looked between them. "...are you sure that's a good idea? have you not heard what he did?"

 

"The warden right of conscription means that, if desperate enough, anyone can join rank. It's kinda shady when you think about it—" Cinna chewed and swallowed. "—but like, if anything happens..." she made a motion of head-bopping with her spoon. “I think we can handle it.”

 

Duran nodded understandably, but Leliana looked unconvinced.

 

"I don't understand why you would both want to take on risky recruits when you.... well..." Her eyes very obviously glanced over to the stairs, where Cailan rested and no doubt annoyed Morrigan. “Have such important friends?”

 

Cinna forced down another spoonful of gruel. “All the more reason to have more protection, right?” 

 

"Why don't we let the big guy determine for himself if he's worth bringing?" Duran suggested, slipping off his chair. He glanced at Cinna still finishing up her food, and jerked his head to the door, where a group of newcomers were just entering. "You coming?"

 

Officially out of bread, she ditched the rest of her gruel and set her bowl aside. When she stood up, the room was still slightly tilted, but she quickly found her footing and followed the two out through the crowded tavern and towards the door. Someone—she didn't know who—stepped back directly into her path and set her stumbling into another person, and she quickly apologized and tried to find Duran and Leliana again. She knew where the door was, so she squeezed past the crowd and reached for the handle.

 

It swung open for her, and she nearly walked into the next group of people trying to get inside. Instead, she did an awkward side step in the same direction as the other person, and then again, until she looked up embarrassed and apologized. "S-sorry!"

 

"Maker, it's packed in there!" said the man, easily looking over her head. He had a full beard and a long sword strapped to his back, so she knew immediately that he wasn't a refugee. Local or mercenary, maybe? He looked back at the two people behind him and shook his head. "I doubt there's enough space for us all."

 

"Garrett, will you at least try?" Huffed the teenage girl to his right, hands on her hips. She had a red bandanna around her neck. "This is our last chance to talk to Rob before we leave."

 

"We  _ need _ the coin he owes mother," said the other teenager with a frown on his face, standing a few inches taller than the other two.

 

And... right. Okay. Full disclosure, Cinna knew exactly who they were the moment she heard the first guy talk.

 

The Hawke siblings were taller than she expected- or maybe she was just shorter than them. It didn't really matter which one it was, because she felt tiny standing next to them. It could have been the blood loss talking, honestly, because she almost passed out on the spot. Instead of doing that, or making a fool out of herself, _ or curtsying or something _ —she stepped out of their way and choked out a few words. "Y-yeah... um. It's, uh, real busy. I'd come back later... If you wanted to talk to the owner or something..."

 

Garett nodded at her without really paying any attention to her at all, his eyes still scanning the inside of the tavern. "Maybe one of you could draw him out?"

 

"Now you're making it sound like we plan on robbing him," Bethany said incredulously, before she turned to Cinna with an apologetic look on her face. "Which we aren't! Don't worry about us... just, uh..."

 

"Nice meeting you," Carver said briskly, dismissing her with a quick nod, before pushing his siblings towards the door with both arms.

 

“You… too.”

 

Cinna stood there and watched them go, slightly nauseated and just as dizzy as before, but for all new reasons now; Hawke had a sword on his back.

 

_ Shit, _ she thought, as she watched the last of the hawke siblings disappear amongst the crowd.  _ It's definitely too late to go running back to Flemeth and demand she do something.  _

 

What were the chances everything turning out fine and nobody dying, if she let them go and do their thing? 

 

Slim? 

 

Of course. Thedas never made things easy, did it? 

 


	20. Stenuous Labor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cinna suffers and the party gets a little bit bigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: A wild update appeared! I know it's been a while lmao. I'm not gunna make any excuses other than I felt like i wanted to rewrite parts of this story but also really didnt, so i didnt do anything at all. But, deciding that i should move forward instead of stagnating, wanna keep posting. So, if you have any opinions on how i handle the hawke-problem, I'm with ya on that, I'm aware, and I'm just gunna keep on going. hope you enjoy the ride anyway!

Leliana caught her arm and pulled her towards the Chantry, where Duran already stood in the doorway. They watched him from afar, and Cinna gave him a shaky thumbs up as he walked out of the chantry with a key in his hand while the reverend mother followed after him.

****

"Please reconsider—" she urged, wringing her hands as the dwarf walked down the stone steps into the yard. "—The Qunari, he slaughtered an entire family. Surely your cause could do without child murderers?"

****

There was a slight hesitation to Duran's steps as he thought about it, but only for a moment. He palmed the key, turning it over in his hands. "Mother, I appreciate the concern, but desperate times call for desperate measures."

****

"He hasn't talked to Duncan or Alistair about this, has he?" Cinna asked, watching as the reverend mother made a momentary prayer to the maker for their lost souls or whatever. 

****

"He has not," Leliana sighed, closing her eyes. Duran came to stand beside them a second later, and he smiled as he looked up at them.

****

"Ready to break a man out of jail?"

****

"Does it count if we have the key?" Cinna led the way to the cells. The gates outside the city were closed, now, with the approaching darkspawn, but there was a small door for foot passengers that they squeezed through. Duran passed a guard a small amount of coin to keep things discreet, and soon enough they were on the other side.

****

Cinna gripped her walking stick with both hands and made sure of where she stepped. Outside the gates, anything could happen, and she desperately didn't want to get shot by hurlocks again. She shuddered at the memory, and rubbed a hand over her shoulder. Flemith had healed the wounds, but she could still remember the sensation, sharp and clear as ever. It hadn't been that long since Ostagar... 

****

A little ways off stood Sten’s great iron cage, and she realized how small it was compared to the rest of him as they approached. It was designed to be uncomfortable for a human, not a  _ qunari _ , and he stood awkwardly amongst the iron bars. Cinna tried not to feel too bad for him, since he  _ was  _ guilty of the crime he committed, but being left out in the elements for weeks like an animal was  _ barbaric _ . She couldn't help but feel bad for him. 

****

Duran unlocked the cage and opened the door wide, while she simply stood and watched, Leliana silently observing by her side.

****

It was funny, looking back. A month ago she'd probably never do something like this: letting a guilty man walk. But then again, she was a seasoned prisoner-freer now.  She hadn’t known the crimes of the prisoners she had freed at ostagar--She didn't know if they were guilty of desertion, or assault or murder, but she had done it anyway… Cinna hadn't really thought of the ethical issues of letting everyone go, or if they deserved it. She just opened the gates and let them run, because at least then they'd have a fighting chance against the blight instead of sitting in their cells watching their own death approach. Maybe it was a bit too nice of her, or weak hearted, and maybe she was imposing her one world beliefs onto Thedas, but… she didn't enjoy seeing people suffer like that. And if they could survive the blight at all, she counted that as a victory, because the darkspawn were an enemy to everyone and the things they did to people when they captured them were beyond anything any criminal ever deserved. 

****

"...and so it is done." Sten uncrossed his arms and took a single step outside his cage. He squared his shoulders, no doubt quite sore from being locked up for so long, and looked down at Duran, his lips pressed into a fine line. "I confess, I did not think the chantry sister was willing to part with the key."

****

"She wasn't exactly willing, but..." the dwarf shook his head and let Sten take another step out. "We all know the blight takes precedence."

****

"I can't wait to hear what Duncan and—" Cinna stopped herself from blurting out the king of Ferelden's, catching Leliana’s warning look. "—Cal has to say. Our friend Cal, who is very interested in the Qun and everything about it. He so wished he could be here."

****

" _ Nice _ ," Duran coughed into his hand, giving Cinna a very obvious head-nod. She looked back up at Sten and found him staring directly down at her, unblinkingly. Greeaaat.

****

"Where is the rest of your group?" asked the Qunari. She wondered how the three of them looked, so far down on the ground compared to him. It was shocking to think that Cinna was the tallest next to Leliana and Duran when she had the emotional height of a small hobgoblin, or hampster. She felt so tiny next to the prisoner in front of them. 

****

_ Ex-prisoner _ , now, since he was a free man. 

****

They probably wouldn’t end up regretting this. 

“We have some time before we set out,” Duran explained, gesturing towards the City. Cinna didn’t exactly want to go back inside in fear of Sten getting mobbed or something, but she felt awkward standing outside the city walls. If darkspawn came, Duran would be the only one capable of sensing it coming. “Our wagon is set to leave in a little while. Are you okay with waiting?”

****

Sten huffed, as if the very idea of waiting just a little bit longer was funny to him, but he had a personal grudge against the concept of laughter. “It would be no different than waiting before.”

****

“Yeah, but now it’s with a  _ purpose _ ,” Cinna said, waving her fingers in the air. That earned a smile from Leliana and Duran, but not from her intended target. She awkwardly cleared her throat. “I mean, uh, other than a slow, wasting death.”

****

Sten gave her a piercing, steady look. “Perhaps.”

****

Leliana squirmed by her side, still somewhat judging them for releasing a convict but unwilling to voice her concerns just yet. “How… long have you been locked up?”

****

“Does it matter?” At their collective nodding, he slowly closed his eyes, and grudgingly elaborated. “Twenty days. Perhaps more. I stopped counting.”

****

Aaaand that was all it really took to win Leliana's sympathy, honestly. Cinna watched her from the sidelines as the chantry sister's posture immediately straightened and her chantry-imposed _ white-knight _ mode kicked in. It started with her suggesting that they should give him some food, and then to get him something that wasn't twenty day old rags, and before Cinna knew it she was running between the city gates fetching them things as they waited on the other side.

****

"W-why..." she panted, stumbling upstairs into the room they had rented just as Alistair and Duncan were packing up the last of their things. "D-did it have.... to be me.... to get them everything...?"

****

"Perhaps they took your weakness as an easy opportunity," Morrigan murmured, sipping from a mana potion in the corner. Cinna glared at her as she struggled to catch her breath, lungs rattling with a dangerous sound.

****

"...are you okay?" said a very worried Alistair, pack slung over his shoulder and only the barest hint of purple beneath his eyes. Morrigan had done good work making his face look less eggplant-ish, even though she wasn't technically supposed to be a healer.

****

Cinna let her legs go out from under her and sat down on the floor. Her hair had fallen out of its braid and she shook it out and rebraided it with what little spare energy she had left. They were leaving in less than half an hour and she still needed to try and find Sten a sword. He wasn't wearing rags anymore (thanks to her, bribing the bartender downstairs) and he wasn't barefoot.... but they couldn't exactly argue that Sten would be a great addition to the group without actually giving him something to fight darkspawn with...

****

"Why do they have you running across town?" Duncan crossed his arms. They still didn't know Sten had joined, but Cinna was prepared to deal with that.

****

"L-Last minute job... it was to—" she took in a big gulp of air. "—pay for food I ate... You have no idea h-how much they charge for—" her fingers quickly finished up the last part of her braid and she took another deep breath. "—poisoned gruel w-with... bits of cabbage and celery threw in. I mean, celery? in a  _ stew _ ? We need to get out of here."

****

"I second that," Cailan muttered, sitting up on his bed. He was dressed in armor that actually fit him this time, and her grey warden gear was neatly laid out nearby. He impatiently gestured for her to get ready, but she was still too exhausted to get up, so she crawled over on her hands and knees. He raised an eyebrow at her, unamused. "Were you raised in a barn?"    
  
"What? No, I'm not Alistair," she said, pulling off her shawl. She quickly started unlacing her boots.    
  
"You're joking, right?" Cailan looked up and stared at Alistair in confusion. "Were you—mean, is she—"    
  
“HA, good one, Cinna. Real funny!" He laughed, face flushed. Alistair quickly cleared his throat and sharply looked away. "My upbringing was perfectly fine. Are we going? We should get going. Preferably soon. Now, even. "    
  
Cinna had one arm in her armor and looked up at the two Theirins, while Cailan awkwardly glanced between them both to try to gauge who was telling the truth. Cinna or Alistair.  _ Alistair or Cinna _ . She could see concern start to creep its way onto Cailan's face as he narrowed his eyes.  _ Good _ , maybe something miraculous would happen, and they'd start actually talking to one another _ like people, _ instead of unhappy strangers forced to inhabit the same physical space.    
  
The only one out of the loop was Morrigan, quietly observing the conversation with an annoyed expression on her face. Cinna made a mental note to get her in on the gossip even if it killed her. She probably wouldn't even care, to be honest, but at least she'd feel included.    
  
...and then Duncan had to ruin the moment by clearing his throat and giving Alistair and easy-out. "I believe Ser Aeducan and Sister Leliana are waiting for us."    
  
Alistair visibly brightened. “Ah, right! W-well, allow me to- uh…Go meet with them!”  

****

Cinna watched as Alistair made his getaway, too slow to stop him from leaving. The door swung shut behind him, and she stared at the door for a long, hard moment. 

  
"Oh my god I didn't get to tell him," Cinna covered her face with her hands and quietly cursed to herself. She could feel all eyes turn to her, and she flushed a girly, embarrassed pink. “Um, so, we have another party member…?”

****

Morrigan gave her a sharp look. “What.” 

****

“Real great guy,  _ really tall, _ like  _ massive. _ Strong, I think, I mean I’m guessing--you've gotta be ripped as hell if you’re that giant. And he’s… um, super excited to meet you all?” She gave the witch her cheesiest, fakest smile ever. 

****

Duncan raised both his eyebrows and stared down at her, judging, infinitely.  _ Almost like he suspected she was full of bullshit.  _ “Is that so..?” 

****

“Well, he didn’t say in  _ so many words _ , but I think he was happy to be out of his cage.” Cinna turned towards Cailan and Morrigan, who were also staring at her expectantly.  _ Greeaat _ . “Y-yeah, he, um,  _ maybe _ did some bad stuff, but he’s willing to fight the darkspawn! So I honestly think that’s a win for us and not the blight.” 

****

“You’re including criminals to our rank?” Cailan exclaimed, incredulous. 

****

Duncan quickly took the opportunity to turn to him and remind him just how desperate they really were. “Your highness, it would… be wise to note that the Wardens have always been willing to take on any person, regardless of their past history, in times of trouble. The Maker knows what sort of obstacles we may face in the future....” He paused. “Though, meeting the prisoner beforehand would have been appreciated.”

****

Cinna purses her lips. “He's also a Qunari.” 

****

Both men blinked at her. 

****

“Wonderful,” Morrigan sighed, picking up her bags. She made her way to the door, leather strap skirt swishing behind her. “Next I suppose you’ll say we’ll have a dragon joining us?” 

****

“I’d actually really like that idea,” Cinna said, picking herself up off the floor. 

****

Morrigan let out a tired groan. “Of course you would.” 

****

Cailan sat on his bed, scowling at her, and she realized with Morrigan walking out on them that it'd be her and Duncan carrying the king down the stairs and out of the tavern. Now, dressed in heavy armor.  _ Yayyy… _ . 

****

“Well, if you want to meet him,” Cinna said, readying her arms for the future agony they’d be in for the next short while. Barthola-mule was waiting… somewhere down a long flight of stairs, which Cinna was honest to god not looking forward to. “No time like the present, I guess?” 

****

Duncan sighed, looking every inch the old man that he was. 

****

X 

****

Everyone meeting Sten honestly felt a lot more like an interrogation that Cinna expected. For lack of two-way glass, they had gone to whispering conspiratorially behind the wagon, but with Cailan sitting on top and occasionally looking over at Sten, who was tall enough to see all of them talking anyway, it wasn't really that covert. 

****

“I'm sorry I didn't have enough time to grab a sword,” Cinna whispered, glancing down at Duran. The dwarf shook his head and let it slide. 

****

“You did enough. He's got shoes at least—I know you had to fight someone to get a pair that big.”   

****

“The woodsmith...” She shuddered. “He took all my money and  _ still  _ decided to yell at me about it…” 

****

Cailan was still incredibly skeptical about their new addition, and didn't bother hiding hit. “What can he do if he cant fight for us?”

****

“He can still be of use,  _ I'm sure _ ...” Leliana shifted awkwardly. “He can… lift things? I understand moving you around comes with some difficulties.” 

****

“Oh, I see,” Cailan muttered. “He can throw me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The mule is out of work now, fantastic.” 

****

“You show some respect for barthola-mule,” Cinna said, reaching over and covering the poor donkey’s ears. “We could never replace her. She's done so much already.” 

****

“She's also a convenient source of food if things go wrong,” Morrigan reminded. 

****

_ Cinna let out a hiss _ . Eventually, amongst their squabbling and Cinna reassuring Barthola-mule of her importance, Duran got them back on topic. “So, Sten—?” 

****

“I agree that he does require a purpose,” Duncan nodded. “If he joins us, that is…”

****

Cinna groaned. This had been honing on for long enough. The guy was  _ right there _ , and could hear anything anyway.

****

“He can stand and judge. Maybe make offhand remarks occasionally. Does it really _matter?_ He’s here! He’s willing! He could play defense for capture the flag if we ever wanna go non-humans VS normies! Duran can coach, Barkspawn can be the mascot, And I mean, _Alistair can play goal_ —” 

****

He gave her a funny look. “I hate to break it to you Cinna, I’m?? human??” 

****

“That—” Cinna’s brain froze for a moment as it finally caught up with her mouth and realized that she had almost spilled the beans on his half-elf heritage. Jesusfuckingchrist. 

****

Morrigan made a nose in the back of her throat, shooting Alistair a cutting look. “Perhaps she confused you for a rock, considering how you head is full of them.”

****

Cinna snapped her fingers and pointed at her. “ _ RIGHT! _ Thank you. Anyway, like I was saying. We need Sten because we’re desperate, and also because nobody has the muscles to lift Cailan on his own. Sorry Alistair. And Duncan. And also Duran.” 

****

“None taken,” Duran snorted, far more amused by the idea than the other two men. 

****

Sten stared at them over the wagon, obvious of his eavesdropping now that they had somewhat come to a decision. Not that he was ever really trying to be covert about i— _ they _ hadn't, after all. “So I am the mule.” 

****

“I-I mean…” Cinna swallowed nervously. “Sorta? But you can  _ suplex darkspawn _ if they get close. Barthola-mule just has itty bitty hooves to work with. It’d take ages. We need efficiency in out group if we wanna get anywhere.” 

****

Cailan seemed the least convinced. He let out a sigh and leaned back in the wagon, arms crossed, reminding Cinna very much of a sullen teenager. “I don't know about this.” 

****

“Come  _ oooooon _ ,” Cinna pleaded. If anyone could break him, Cinna was sure she could do it. He fucking  _ owed  _ her, after all. And she had spent  _ way  _ too much time getting Sten some shoes for them to chicken out now. “Let Sten  _ join the band _ .”

****

Alistair scoffed at the phrase. “I’m pretty sure Leliana is the only one of us here who can sing.” 

****

She turned to him. “Hey, we don’t know yet! Sten could have a wealth of hidden talents that we’d be throwing away if we didn't keep him around.” 

****

Leliana turned and smiled up at the Qunari. “Can you sing at all?”

****

“No.” 

****

“....but that doesn't mean he doesn’t have other talents!” Cinna continued. 

****

Sten stared at them over the wagon. “I am proficient in killing things. That should be enough.” 

****

The group looked amongst one another, and Cinna closed her eyes.  _ Why did she even bother?  _

****

Duran gave it one last shot. “Look, we need the manpower….” 

****

Cailan pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. He looked  _ so  _ done with them. “Okay, he can stay.  _ For now _ .”

****

“Yay!!” 

Cinna clapped her hands together along with Leliana. Duran looked pretty relieved in the end, and Sten stood in the same place as he had before, with his arms crossed, waiting for them to load the last of their gear onto the wagon. His expression remained set—she could've told him that he won the lottery and he probably would've reacted the same. 

****

_ Ah, well _ . They were done with Lothering. The woman who owned the wagon climbed on board and woke up the horses, and they'd be gone soon. That was something, right? 

****

“WAIT!” 

****

Cinna jumped off at the last moment, forcing the entire group to come to a grinding halt. 

****

“W-what??” Alistair spluttered, righting himself. 

****

“What could you  _ possibly  _ need now,” Morrigan demanded, looking down at her on the ground. 

****

“I forgot something!” Cinna made a move to quickly dash towards the gates before she forgot again, but an arm reached and stopped her. 

****

“We need to get going,” Duncan reminded her, sharing a sharp look with Duran and Alistair. Cailan sat up and turned his head towards the vacant hill, empty and foreboding. “We can’t outpace the horde if we linger.” 

****

“But… but..!” Cinna weakly struggled against Duncan’s grip, before eventually, painfully, she crawled back onto the wagon. 

****

“We can replace it in the next town,” Leliana soothed, trying to make her feel better, but it didn't work. 

****

As they Lothering slowly disappeared behind them, Cinna covered her face with her hands and cursed herself for getting so easily distracted. 

****

Her window of opportunity to keep the Hawke family together had closed. 

****

_ shit.  _

****  
  



	21. On The Road Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cinna's miserable, the gang's miserable, it rains real hard and Cinna influences just a little bit more of the world with her existence

 It threatened to rain again as they made it onto the Imperial highway. Their wagon wasn't the only one trying to outrun the horde- families and children, young and old, anyone with feet worth walking on were amongst those they passed. Their wagon had two horses and their load was significantly lighter than the people trying to carry their whole house with them, so their pace was quicker, but it didn't mean they were without trouble. Where there were people, there were bandits, and more than once the group had to cut off a band of highway robbers from looting folks of all their valuables.

Cinna was pretty useless among the fighting-- she stayed with Cailan in the wagon, and held onto the rope attached to Barthola-mule, wondering if fighting these specific bandits even made a difference in the long-run.

But it did, evidently, to the people they had helped, and the other wagon that had been stopped. Duran and Alistair even helped the poor guy reattached his wagon wheel.

"I appreciate it," the dwarf said, running a hand over his beard. "Life’s been real hard on us on the road what with all this blight business.Thank you for the help."

"It's no problem," Duncan nodded, sheathing his sword. Cinna had been relieved to know that the bandits had been taken out non-lethally, and sent running without their pointy swords and weapons with a slap on the wrist. "I'm glad to see the both of you are alright."

The dwarf reached out and appreciatively shook his hand. "The name's Bohdan. My boy's Sandal, over there, tinkering away. The two of us would be beside ourselves if it weren't for kind travelers such as yourselves jumping in at the right time. Where might you be off to?"

It didn’t take long before the wagons started rolling again, and with it, an addition to their group. It wasn’t a permanent thing. After Redcliffe  Bohdan and Sandal were planning on traveling north, or about as far north as they could to outrun the blight. It was the same story for every group they encountered on the road. And all it did was drive Cinna into a fouler mood as the days went on and the weather got worse. 

 

“You’re sulking,” Duran pointed out, another afternoon away from Lothering as the clouds spat just the barest mist of rain down on them. The whole group had made use of their gold and bought anything and everything that could cover them. Cloaks, hats, boots--Bohdan had the wares they needed, and it was lucky that they had run into each other when they did. But Cinna was still in a sour mood and shrugged her arms into her woolen shawl, heavy with rainfall. “Why don’t you get up and buy something warmer from the merchant?” 

 

“I don’t want to,” she said, shivering. 

 

Cinna could see her breath rise past her face and turned her head swiftly away, to the dreary landscape and dismal forest. Ferelden was a swamp of mud and decay and anyone who tried to say otherwise was lying and hopped up on moldy cheese and shitty wine. The place was a rainy, depressing _dump_ , in the middle of backwater nowhere, and even their _glorious imperial highway_ was nothing more than a beat-up dirt road with a showboating deceitful name. 

 

So really, it was a lot like her hometown, in the middle of nowhere. Always cold and wet and rainy. The only thing missing were the gumboots. 

 

“Guys, guess what I got?” Alistair said, gesturing to his feet. They were well worn, with iron plating on the shins and fur coming out the top, but there was no mistaking it… “New boots!” 

 

“UUGHHH….!” Cinna covered her face with her hands and sunk lower in her seat.

 

“You could've just said you didn’t like them,” Alistair sniffed, climbing back on board the wagon. 

 

Eventually, they stopped for lunch for a little while, by the side of an old field, overgrown with weeds as high as Duran and trees sprouting up amid the brush. Cinna had remained in the wagon, along with Cailan and Leliana as the rest had gotten out to stretch their legs, though it wasn’t long before they all piled in again. The wagon was pretty cramped and uncomfortable, with all eight of them squeezed in together, but with Barkspawn running beside them on the road, and Barthola-mule trotting alongside the horses, they made do with the space they had. 

 

“Oooh, Morrigan’s back,” Alistair said, ducking his head to the sound of flapping wings. Cinna looked up and caught him grimacing at a large crow, perched just near his head. “I hate it when she does that… always with the _swooping_ , why don’t you give a little warning next time?” 

 

The crow responded with an ear-splitting ‘ _CAW!_ ’ right in his ear, and made a happy chattering sound when he shrieked. 

 

“That’s not what I meant!!” 

 

Cinna rested her chin on her knees and wrapped her arms around her legs to keep warm. “Back from the skies, huh? Is it just as dreary and awful up there as it is down here?” 

 

The Morrigan-crow let out an indignant puff of air and carefully walked down the side of the wagon until it sat beside her. It honked, once, twice, and then gave her a half-lidded stare. 

 

“Worse, huh?” Cinna sighed and tilted her head to the side. “That sucks.” 

 

“ _This_ sucks. Cinna, you’re bringing the whole group down,” Cailan muttered, taking a sip from--where the hell did he get that? Cinna immediately reached over and snatched the wine bottle from his grasp. “Hey!” 

 

“You’re on a strict no-booze diet Cailan, where did you get this?” 

 

He reached over to grab it, but she shoved the bottle into Leliana’s hands and glared at him. Cailan glared right back. “I bought it from the dwarf. I’m an adult, I can _do things_ like that.” 

 

“You’re also my _patient_ , and as your doctor who regularly has to give you my blood, I think I get some veto powers in whatever else you put into your body, _dumbass_.” 

 

Cailan’s face went red and he spluttered, “Wh-what did you just call me?”

 

The same time, Alistair squinted at suspiciously and cocked his head to the side. “Um, you have to do what now?” 

 

Cinna and Cailan immediately fell silent. As did Duncan, who turned his attention over to their conversation the second Cinna slipped up. _Shit, shit, shit--_

 

But then, like the feathered angel she was, Morrigan took that as an opportunity to turn herself back into a human, on top of all them, and fell into the wagon in a tangle of limbs and uncomfortable flailing. 

 

“Oh come on!” Alistair wailed, wincing from a sharp knee to the face. “That was totally avoidable!” 

 

“Why don’t you show me next time you turn into a bird?” Morrigan shot back, righting herself amongst the rocking wagon. “Or better yet, _I could turn you into one_ and we can see just how well you fare.” 

 

“Nevermind, I take it back, I’m good!” That shut him up quickly, and Cinna shot the witch a grateful look, which was _not_ reciprocated. 

 

“This group has the collective brainpower of a _potato_ ,” she hissed, pulling on Cinna’s ear. She leaned over and whispered, just to drive her point in further. “Do you have any self preservation instincts _whatsoever?!_ ” 

 

“I’m sorryyyy!” Cinna whined, as Cailan and Duncan distracted Alistair with some nonsensical stupid talk about how ladies were just Like That and Cinna made a serious mental note to spike their drinks later with Respect Women juice later. “I wasn’t thinking…” 

 

“The fact that you have made it this far at all is astounding,” she said flatly, releasing Cinna’s ear. “I may not care about your fate if your little secret gets out, but if you accidentally lynch yourself before I witness the fruits of your labors--” she gestured to Cailan, who was not-so-subtly trying to convince Leliana to hand the wine back over, then plucked the bottle out of the Chantry sister’s hands herself, much to Cailan’s whining.  “--I will make you regret it.” 

 

“How would that even work if I’m dead?” Cinna asked, not sure if she wanted an answer. 

 

Morrigan stared at her and uncorked the bottle. “I’ll find a way.” 

 

“Wow, it sounds like you _kinda do ca_ \--” Cinna let out a squeak, abruptly kicked forward by the witch into the arms of Leliana. “Rude!!”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Morrigan said, deadpan, before she took a drink. Her face twisted into a scowl of disgust, and she put re-corked the bottle a second later, glaring at Cailan. “You have _horrible taste_ in wine.” 

 

“I didn’t really get it for the taste,” was his only defense, before Cinna was glaring at him too and he threw up his hands and looked away. 

 

“When the Maker gave me a vision of the future I did not think it would be with such a colorful group of people,” Leliana said, smiling, as she helped Cinna back into her seat. 

 

“Riiiight…” And with the mention of visions of the future, Cinna was back in her bad mood funk. She sighed and fiddled with a loose strand of hair coming out of her braid, only making it worse as a result.  “We sure are… that…” 

 

It bugged her that she hadn’t done anything to spare Carver from an untimely death. It bugged her that she didn’t say anything to make them leave sooner. It bugged her that she froze up, that she didn't scream _RUN NOW!_ To every person in Lothering, knowing ahead of time that the horde would swallow them up the moment they left the poor village. 

 

But they had known that, hadn’t they? The people knew the darkspawn were on their way. The Hawke family knew they had to leave soon. Beside _kidnapping_ Carver and the rest of the town, Cinna honestly couldn't have done much to change things. 

 

But it still bugged her. And it got worse the more and more they spent time on the road. 

 

When the clouds finally opened up and started pouring down on their little wagon, Cinna huddled up next to Leliana, near freezing and soaked down to the bone. Her feet ached from the cold and her shoes squished every time she moved them. The bottom of the wagon itself was inches deep with rainwater, and all they could do was hold their jackets up and pray for the rain to end. Or, in Cinna’s case, listen to Leliana try and pray the rain away. 

 

“ _World-making Glory_ ," she said, head bowed to the howling wind and storm. “ _How shall your children apology make? We have forgotten, in ignorance stumbling, only a Light in this darken'd time breaks…_ ”

 

It was pretty, in a way, when it was spoken by a pretty girl like Leliana. Probably less pretty when it was using as violent rhetoric by the chantry to condemn people, but there had been times Cinna’s mother had dragged her into church, and she had liked and enjoyed the songs there. 

 

 _(But that was before she died, so Cinna really didn’t listen to a lot of hymns or prayers anymore. It never seemed to make much of a difference anyway)_.

 

They pulled over under the shelter of two great oak trees that night, soaked and miserable. Morrigan had forcibly magicked them up a fire and chewed out Cinna for her   loud tooth chattering before they got settled, and only then that Cinna made the journey over to Bohdan’s wagon to get a proper jacket and better shoes. 

 

“Well, let me see what I’ve got back here...” the dwarf had said, rooting back in his great pile of crates and merchandise. 

 

“Take your time…” Cinna took the opportunity to sit down next to their fire and unlace her boots. The rain was suspiciously weaker by their wagon, and the blaze from the fire was ten times brighter and warmer than the pitiful little thing Morrigan had coaxed to life. Her gaze slid over to the blond dwarf sitting across from her. “Sandal.” 

 

“Hello,” he said meekly, staring at the ground. Bohdan had wrestled him into a heavy overcoat, with a fluffy scarf wrapped around his head, nearly swallowing him whole. He was fiddling with something in his hands. 

 

“What do you have there?” she asked, knowing his answer before he said it. 

 

“Enchantment!” he said brightly, and a smile tugged on the corners of his face. He held up the rune for her to see, but kept didn’t make much effort to make eye contact with her. She figured he’s rather just be looking at his runes, honestly, and did the same. 

 

Cinna scooched closer to him, eyeing the little charm. “You make that yourself? Did it take long?” 

 

“No,” he replied, and turned his attention back to fiddling. 

 

Bohdan came back a moment later with new shoes and a worn leather cloak. “Don't mind him, my boy’s not much of a conversationalist. Here, try these on.” 

 

When she peeled off her dripping wet socks, she let out a tired groan when the heat of the fire warmed her freezing-cold toes. With the added warmth of a new cloak slung over her old one was an added bonus, and she hugged her new boots to her chest for a moment as her bare toes soaked up the heat. “Thank youuu Bohdaaan~” 

 

Her eyes were closed but she heard Sandal giggling at her, and she wiggled her toes, much to his delight.  “You’re funny!” 

 

“Be nice to the lady, Sandal, she’s a _customer_ ,” his father murmured. Cinna opened her eyes and waved him off. 

 

“He’s cool, don’t worry about it.” The new boots were also a really great boon to her mood. They were padded on the inside, and a much better fit now than the tattered old shoes she had stumbled into Thedas in. 

 

“Tell me, what kind of shoemaker did you get these from?” Bohdan asked, eyeing the cheap leather knockoffs she had gotten at some weeb store online.  

 

“You can have them if you want,” she said, lacing up her new boots. _And they were warm_ \--warmer than her old ones, which had a steel zipper and holes where the laces let in cold air. _Oooh baby._ “The zipper’s stuck zipped partially down, and I dunno if it’d have any resale value, but I’m not sure I'll get any use out of them after this. They’re not meant for mud honestly.” 

 

“The… what?” Bohdan looked at her curiously and flipped the shoe over to inspect the backside. “You called it a zipper?”

 

Cinna’s mind went blank for a moment. _Ah._ Fantasy medieval land. No zippers. _Fucking hell--_

 

“Yeah,” she said woodenly, reaching over to the shoe. _(Would it be rude of her to rip it out of his hands and cast it into the fire just now?)_ she tugged on the silver zipper and tugged on it. “It zips. Up, down.”

 

“Amazing!” And _oh,_ Bohdan looked ready to give up his profession right then and there and become a professional zipper maker, a zipper salesman, a zipper enthusiast. He looked at the ratty, soaked shoes like it was a glimpse of Valhalla, when in reality it was really just cheaply sold, made-in-china emo merch. “What does this crest say?” 

“ _Hufflepuff…_.” Cinna said drearily, covering her face with her hands. God, what a disaster. Cinna was lucky all her other clothes were burned back in Ostagar. If anyone got a hold of her pikachu pokeball print bralette she’d die. Cinna would absolutely just die on the spot. 

 

Thankfully, that would never happen though. 

 

Sandal laughed at the funny word and repeated it. “What is it?” 

 

“A group of people who are particularly good finders,” she sighed. And yeah, _okay_ , it was pretty adorable to see him brighten up and finally look at her for once. She quit her stressing. “They’re also loyal, patient, hard workers who value fair play. And they’re yellow, kinda like you.” 

 

Sandal looked excitedly over to his father and then back at her. “Me?” 

 

“That’s quite a high compliment, Sandal,” Bohdan prompted, a little smile on his face. He turned the shoe over in his hands, holding up the yellow crest. “What do we say when people compliment us?” 

 

Sandal quickly got up and walked over to the wagon. 

 

“Th-that’s not it! Try again!” Bohdan floundered and watched him go. He turned around and quickly apologized. “He usually gets it on the second time…” 

 

When he returned he ignored Bohdan’s fretting and pressed a stone into Cinna’s hand. “Enchantment!” 

 

“O-Oh, um, thanks!” it was heavier than it looked, round like an egg, and flattened somewhat, with thick deep grooves worn down in the center. “What does this one do?” 

 

Sandal simply smiled at her, tilted his head to the side, and let his eyes fall from her face, down to the ground, and then back to the other rune in his hand. 

 

“Looks like one of his tempest runes? A good trade, you won't find any better,” Bohdan said proudly. He took her boots over to a crate and safely stashed them away. “Now, you better go show off your new wares to your friends so they know who to turn to when they need the proper goods. Hear me?” 

 

“Yes sir!” 

 

She got up, gave him a little salute, waved to sandal (who gave her a distracted smile by the fire, in his big old coat) and made her way back to her group. 

 

“Okay guys, I listened to you.” She opened her arms wide and gestured down to her feet, as Duran, Morrigan, and Duncan fed a dying, sopping wet fire, and the rest shivered in the cold. “And you’ll be amazed at what I just got.” 

 

Alistair stared at her; cold, miserable, and bitter. 

 

“New boots!” 

 

He threw a wet sock at her and Cinna screamed. 

  



	22. Languishing And Learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which best friends are made and some troubling confessions happen by the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING ahead of time for themes of SUICIDE and general unpleasantness. I like to keep this story lighthearted but it'd be unrealistic to not have some of the characters show their struggles and whatnot. I will say though that it does get better <3 
> 
> also next chapter we get carver !!

Cinna scrunched up her face and squinted at the page before her. "You do realize that Ferelden is a completely backward and incomprehensible disaster of a language, right?"

 

"Yes, but you don't know an expiration date from a poison label, so please," Leliana smiled, "keep trying."

 

"I still find it odd that you can speak the language perfectly but can't read a single thing," Alistair murmured, peering over her shoulder to read her chicken scratches. They had gone back to the basics--alphabet jumbles and name games. What Leliana didn't know was that Cinna had written out a full translation into english into her journal and kept glancing back at it whenever the chantry sister asked her to sound out a word. "Where did you even grow up? surely somewhere you'd have seen a written word."

 

"I did, it just didn't read right to left and have an ungodly amount of umlauts and E's thrown in," she huffed.

 

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, sitting back, "But I get the sneaking suspicion that my national pride is hurt by that."

 

"It is a little difficult for non-native speakers," Leliana confessed.

 

Cinna glowered at her, in all her Orlesian perfection. "What's your excuse? or are you just that good."

 

"Perhaps," she said coyly, and tapped her chin. "I'm sure you'll get the hang of it as long as you keep practicing."

 

"Where are you from anyway?" Duran asked, sitting down next to them with some food. He passed a piece of bread to Cinna, and she wondered how in the world their diet had dwindled so pitifully that bread was the only thing she really ate anymore. "Your accent reminds me of some of the casteless back home, but then you have some really bizarre phrases."

 

"I didn't even know what throwing shade was until you explained to me," Alistair agreed.

 

"And it was the most painful experience in my life," Cinna muttered. When she realized they were actually, genuinely interested, she paled. "I--It's really not that... important... where I come from, right?"

 

"Oh, of course it does! Knowing your place of origin is about just as important as your identity," Leliana said. "With so many uncertainties in life, knowing where you come from and who you are is one of the few things to be sure about, to take pride in."

 

"The foreigner is right," Alistair nodded, eating an unimpressed stare from Leliana. He grinned at her. "Hey, not all of us can speak fluent fancy talk. Some of us were born in the backwater side of Thedas. What did you call it Cinna... _ the hood? _ "

 

"Please never say that again." She said, pained.

 

Leliana was silent for a moment. "Actually, my mother was Ferelden."

 

"Oh hey! See, we can all bond about being born in the same flea-infested, rainy bog-hood."

 

Cinna let out an exhausted sigh. "That's not how you use that word."

 

"I was born underground in Orzammar over an active lava flow, but sure," Duran shrugged, while the three of them turned and stared at him. "Potato tomato."

 

"That's _ also  _ not how you say that," Cinna murmured.

 

"See, there you go again with your weird, exotic phrases," Alistair said, squinting at her. "What do I know about you other than you have the worst penchant for catching arrows ever? Sure, you a weird fashion sense and can't read... and the fact that you drool all over the place in your sleep. Maybe I do know a few things after all, huh."

 

Cinna blinked, and a slow creeping horror overtook her face. "What do you mEAN I _ DROOL _ ?"

 

"If this is the first time you've heard of it I have bad news..." Duran nodded solemnly. "I didn't even know humans could hold that much spit in their mouths before I met you."

 

"Leliana, please..." She turned to the bard. "It's not that bad, is it?"

 

"It's... well..." Leliana gave her a pained, fake smile, and patted her on the shoulder. "There are avenues to improvement in many aspects of life."

 

"So it's true!" she exclaimed, burying her face in her hands. " _ I'm a drooler _ ."

 

"It's  _ so bad. _ I worry sometimes you're going to drown," Leliana confessed.

 

"How long has this been going on in my life…?" Cinna said numbly, staring down at her lap. "How many people have noticed and never said anything? Oh my god how could this be happening to me?"

 

"I mean, we just know because we're all forced to share an uncomfortable amount of space with one another," Duran noted. "Have you slept with a lot of people in the past?"

 

Now her face flushed. "No!! Never!"

 

And that just seemed to make things a hundred percent worse. Alistair coughed into his hand and Leliana had this deviant little smirk on her face... "Is _ that so _ ?"

 

"You think I crawl into bed and drool all over just dozens of people? huh? is that what you think? you think I'm some kinda serial drooler? You're  _ sick _ , you're all sick--!" she scooted backwards, cheeks hot. "This was supposed to be a fun little learning session so I can figure out my ABC's and you've turned this into an interrogation. I hope you're  _ happy. _ "

 

"You still haven't told us where you come from," Duran said smugly, laughing at the way her eyes widened and she stiffed even further.

 

"I'm a wandering avenger! I'm a countryless hero, fleeing from a dark past. I'm a caped crusader, is that what you want to hear? I'm your  _ worst fucking nightmare, _ " she hissed. "I'm here now, okay? Isn't that what's most important?"

 

"Yeah I guess," Alistair chuckled.

 

"Thank you," she sighed.

 

He smirked at her. " _ Tourist _ ."

 

"UGHH!" Cinna threw up her hands in defeat. “You people are  _ impossible _ . What more could you possibly want to know about me?”

 

“What’s your favourite color?” Leliana asked sweetly. 

 

Cinna gave her a steady, even stare, but apparently she was being genuine. “.......Green, I  _ guess _ . Uh... what about yours?” 

 

“Purple.” She turned to Duran. “You?” 

 

“Gold. Maybe yellow, I dunno. Alistair?”

 

“The fact that neither of you answered with Grey Warden blue is an incredible betrayal.” He pursed his lips and went quiet for a moment as they stared at him, waiting for a concrete answer. “...I kinda like light red.” 

 

“Like pink?” Cinna asked. 

 

Alistair stiffened. “No, like a light red!” 

 

“That’s pink, dude,” Duran pointed out. 

 

“It’s _ light red, _ ” he defended, flustered. “Pink is a girly froo froo color. Do I look like a froo froo kinda person to you? I rest my case _. _ ”

 

“Says who?” Leliana demanded. “Pink is very manly. In Orlais, blue is the color we dress girls in and pink, boys. I never understood why it was switched around here.”

 

Cinna thought about it for a moment. For all the people she had passed on the road and all the people in Lothering and Ostagar, lighter colors were a rarity, and she hadn’t seen a single softly colored piece of cloth. No pale yellows, or soft eggshell blues, and certainly no pinks. She kinda missed it honestly. “Yeah… okay, can I change my answer?” 

 

Duran shook his head solemnly. “No, you have to pick one color and you’re stuck with it forever.” 

 

“Then how is it fair that you answered with two different colors?” 

 

“They’re like, the exact same thing,” he replied. 

 

Leliana made a face. “They’re definitely not.” 

 

“Guys,” Alistair asked, amidst the bickering and fighting over who could claim the color pink. He had a strangely serious look on his face now that they had disclosed their favourite colors with one another, and rolled a little daisy between his fingers as he watched them.  “...Did we just become best friends forever?”

 

Cinna glanced at the others, finding no complaints there. “I… guess so?” 

 

He nodded thoughtfully, and stuck the daisy behind a button on his shirt. _ “Nice.”  _

 

Eventually, Leliana picked up where they left off. “May we get back to your lessons?” 

 

Cinna sighed. “Fiiine. But only if you force yourself to speak in a Ferelden accent. For the authenticity.” 

 

Her eyebrow twitched. “I will try to do my best.” 

 

(And honestly? She was actually pretty great at it.)

 

X

 

“So, Cail-- uh, um uh--  _ Cal _ ,” Cinna said, stumbling over her words as she brought the king some food as he sat by the fire, with Duncan and Sten sitting nearby. “How…. are the… pains…” 

 

“The pains…? Uh, oh,  _ right _ ...” Getting Cailan in on the plan to keep his identity a secret wasn't as hard as she thought. Apparently this wasn't the first time he had gone incognito, and there was a story there somewhere, but for now, he simply grimaced at the name and took the food. “That has to be the _ most uninspiring name ever _ …”

 

Cinna shushed him and sat down across from him, just barely overhearing the quiet conversation Duncan and Sten were having about boring sword stuff. It was the longest conversation she had seen Sten get into since joining them, and it was  _ so  _ boring. Duncan seemed to be having fun though.

 

“I had a pretty great sword,” Cailan sighed, as he held up his wrist for her to check his veins. He lowered his gaze to the fire as Sten and Duncan turned their attention his way. “Not having it by my side is like missing a limb…. Uh, no offense, Duncan.”

 

“None taken,” the senior warden scoffed, waving him off with his three-fingered hand.

 

Cinna actually needed to take a look at that, to see if she could do anything. She returned Cailan’s wrist to him and scooched closer to the other two men. “How are those feeling, by the way?”

 

“Don’t trouble yourself, Cinna, you’ve done more than enough,” he began, but she wasn’t going to let it slide.

 

“I’m not  _ completely  _ useless,” she reminded, waving her magic-hands at him. He chuckled at the act, like she was about to turn him into a frog. Surely, _ some day _ , she’d figure out if it was actually possible.

 

Sten let out a huff and crossed his arms over his chest. “The bas is a healer, is she not?”

 

“I mean, I’m definitely making this all up as I go, but…I  _ guess _ . ” Cinna wrinkled her nose at the thought, and move closer so she could make out Duncan’s digits. Flemeth had done a good job of healing the skin and the exposed issue left behind. She looked up at Duncan. “Do you feel any phantom pains at all?”

 

“Some,” he admitted, opening and closing his hand. “It’s nothing too serious. The only trouble I've had is dual wielding with only three fingers.”

 

Sten nodded. “I knew a Karasaad with the same problem.”

 

“What happened to him?” Cailan asked from across the fire.

 

“He was shamed greatly and reassigned,” he replied. “It is a warrior’s greatest humiliation to be unable to carry his own weapon. For that crime alone, he could have been executed.”

 

Cinna stiffened, because _ what the fuck that didn't help anyone at all _ , but she relaxed somewhat when Duncan let out a quiet chuckle. “Well, it’s a good thing there’s still some hope for me.”

 

Sten grunted and shifted his attention over to Cailan. “How is it you came to lose your sword?”

 

“Uh, darkspawn,” Cailan said awkwardly. A second later a shadow passed over his face, and he frowned, deeply. “It was passed down to me from my father, after his disappearance… Though I fear it may be lost to the horde now.”

 

“That  _ is _ quite distressing," Sten murmured, looking down into the fire. "A warrior's heart is his weapon. To live without the one that reflects his soul is a pitiful,  _ empty  _ existence..."

 

Cinna cleared her throat to try and clear the harsh mood that had fallen on the group just then, uncomfortable with the topic at hand. 

 

"Hey, you know what's also really sad? the fact that Barkspawn will never end up catching his tail. It’s just a little stub. He still keeps trying though." She let out a forced laugh and wiped under her eye. "Haha... so cute..."

 

"Cute is not the word I would use to describe it," Cailan huffed. Sten tilted his head to the side in agreement. "I've had dogs before, and that one is a clueless disaster."

 

"Maybe you have more in common with the clueless disaster than you think," Cinna nodded, laughing when he took offense and gasped at her.

 

"The two of you pick on defenseless creatures far too often," Duncan sighed, watching them both. "Cinna, go a bit easier on him. and...  _ Cal _ , try to be nicer to the animals, they’re doing their best."

 

"What about you,  _ Cal _ , are you trying your best?" Cinna prodded anyway.

 

"Well, seeing as how I'm paralyzed from the waist down and haven't offed myself yet for  _ my  _ pointless existence, I think I'm doing  _ pretty good _ ," he said flatly.

 

Cinna froze, an icy feeling in her stomach. "That's-- I didn't mean..."

 

"Forget I said anything," he muttered, shifting away from her and the fire.

 

"No, no  _ no no no- _ -" she said quickly, stumbling all the way back over to his side before things got any worse. "That's absolutely not a thing I can just ignore-- _ you have so much to live for! _ "

 

"What was it you said, Sten?" Cailan said brightly, mocking Cinna's sunny tone. "A warrior’s greatest shame is to be unable to carry his weapon? I wonder what the Qunari translation is for a man who can’t even stand and fight his own battles. What a great and utter  _ fool  _ you all must think of me."

 

The heat of indignation colored her face. “Do you have any idea how much bullshit that is? And you think dying somehow would make things  _ any  _ better?!”

 

"Your high-- uh..." Duncan tripped over his words for a moment. "Cal...  She's not wrong, try to think of the bigger picture without you in it..."

 

"I  _ am!  _ I'm just..." he huffed, and tried to adjust his legs sitting down. "Exhausted, and tired and sore, and  _ sick  _ of being carried around on the road." He took a few quick, short breaths, and dragged his hands through his long, stringy blonde hair. "But most of all I'm just  _ angry  _ it happened at all in the first place. I'm _ furious. _ "

 

"In Qunlat, there's a saying," Sten began, in the absence of conversation and Cinna's fuming silence. She couldn’t even form a coherent sentence without wanting to curse him out. " _ Asit tal-eb _ , which is,  _ the way it must be." _

 

"I think I've heard that one," Cailan sighed. "Have any others?"

 

Sten raised an eyebrow, and then said, "Ataas shokra."

 

"Glorious struggle," Cailan snorted. "Fitting. Though I'd say this is the least  _ glorious  _ period of my life."

 

"You know the language," he said.

 

Cailan shrugged one shoulder and watched their fire crackle and spit out a few glowing embers. The anger and bitterness drained itself from his face, and what remained was a raw bitterness in his eyes. 

 

"I've had a lot of time sitting around studying and reading," he murmured. "Which is exactly all I see in my near and far future, from here on out. Filling my head with boring words and missing out on all the action."

 

"Okay just dump on everything I love, sure." Cinna let out an indignant huff. "First the dog, now  _ books _ ."

 

"I'd be more inclined to be a gentleman if I had something to lift my spirits," Cailan said, side-eyeing her. "The wine. I want my wine back."

 

"No can do," she said, pretty sure Morrigan hucked it into a ditch as soon as they passed one or at the very least, added it to her bag of poisonous ingredients for later. "Ask for something else I can give."

 

He thought about it for a moment, before he licked his lips. "Well, I mean, if you're offering--"

 

Cinna stared at him, mouth slightly parted. Did he have ANY idea how to read a room? " _ Nope _ . No, absolutely-- I don't know what you were going to say but I can guarantee you that it'll be met with swift disapproval. This is a family outing, _ Cal, _ with family values." Cinna straightened right back up and shifted back over to Duncan's side. "Sir, your hand, please?"

 

The senior warden had been looking at the two of them, lost in thought, and half close to chastising them again, when he gave her his injured hand. "What are you planning on doing?"

 

It took a moment as Cinna's fingers clasped around his amputated digits, and she focused real hard on picturing the cut nerves and pathways. There was no fanfare, no sparkle magic involved, and happened all underneath the skin. A rough estimate of the nerves in a single human body was in the billions, like a sea of twinkling stars, and Cinna began the methodical process of turning off just the few at the end of each stump. 

 

A second passed, and she released him. "There. Any more pain?"

 

Duncan curled and uncurled his hand approvingly. "No. You have my thanks."

 

"I thought you a healer, not a  _ mage _ ," Sten said, watching her warily. He looked at Duncan. "You let all your saarebas get so close?"

 

"Cinna's nothing to be concerned about," Duncan assured. "She's been quite the help ever since Ostagar."

 

"When Duran and Alistair found her wandering out in the woods…." Cailan said, staring at her. "What were you even doing out there?"

 

Cinna shifted uncomfortably. "Oh... _ you know _ .... a bit of dog walking..."

 

"That somehow explains everything," he sighed, annoyed.

 

"I heard of what took place there from the locals," Sten nodded. "Human military tactics will always be doomed for failure, though on such a scale was quite something."

 

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Cailan said, deadpan.

 

"Next time’s the charm," Cinna reassured, hopeful that she could still somehow salvage things and evaporate the cloud hanging over their heads. She still couldn't forget what Cailan had said, and evidently, neither had he.

 

"I seem to have misplaced my optimism along with my  _ priceless heirloom sword _ ," he muttered staring back down into the fire. "Along with my pride. My legs. My--everything?  _ Wonderful. _ This is a really great family outing, Cinna, thanks for making me a part of it."

 

"Okay how is all this my fault? now you're picking on me unfairly," she shot back, crossing her arms over her chest. "At least pick on me for an _ actual reason _ next time."

 

He shot her a dry look. "My bad. I'll try to come up with better insults that target your flaws as a human being specifically."

 

"You better," she huffed. "Or I'll have to go to Morrigan for character building, and she's  _ ruthless _ ."

 

"Tell her to bring back my wine while you’re at it."

 

"You already know she chucked it in the nearest bush the second she got her hands on it."

 

Cailan sighed and looked over at the other two men. "It was worth a shot."

 

Begrudgingly, they agreed, and let him have that at least. Cinna sighed, and sat herself down by the fire. Misery wrapping around her like a tight blanket. 

 

“I guess I can't win them all,” she muttered into her hands, and let the fire burn on. 

 


End file.
